After the Fall
by PaintedViolin
Summary: The dead are not the only ones who feast upon human flesh. Unlikely, unwilling companions face enemies of both nature and decide who is worth saving and who is expendable. Merle, Milton, and Andrea-set at the end of Season 3-Season 5. M for sexual reference, violence, gore, and language. Please review. Alternate ending labeled.
1. Chapter 1: An Open Field

**I still haven't watched the 4****th**** season but I know bits and pieces of what happens. I did, however, watch the Season 5 premiere and I knew they weren't going to be killing off Daryl so I didn't feel much suspense. I watched it with a dull ache in my heart, thinking that it will never be the same without Merle. Gareth is one crazy sonnabitch, though, so I thought I could use that. I've brought back the three dead characters—my new golden trio—but Daryl's here as well. **

** Takes place as Andrea decides to leave Woodbury and Milton and Merle are still alive. But the group will not be staying at the prison, nor will the Governor be the only villain. Again, I'm probably digging myself a grave here in starting this, but it's sort of become a tradition since "Chupacabra" to start a new story every season. Hope you'll stick with it and drop me any advice, critiques, feedback, or comments of any kind. I read everything twice. Thanks everybody!**

**ANDREA**

_Like it or not, I belong here_, he had said. What utter bullshit. No one _belonged_ anywhere in this world. It was just a matter of where you chose to lay your head at night and who you wanted beside you while you did it. No place was worth belonging to and it wasn't worth it to throw your lot in with anyone because they would all turn around and stab you in the back some way or another all for personal gain.

Had she not survived Atlanta, the CDC, and the Greene farm with those people, her so-called friends at the prison? Had she not proven herself a citizen of Woodbury in her efforts to protect the people? Had she not come back to Phillip in the hopes of changing him instead of stabbing him in the back by remaining at the prison? Well, that last one didn't count because she was on her way out the door again, except this time for good. She wouldn't be coming back here, not to save these people, not to reason with Phillip, not to plead with Milton. If Amy had lived, if Dale had lived, she would have no qualms about returning to her people and yet she couldn't help but feel that she was bringing harsher hell down on them all by going back to them. Her friends were outnumbered against Phillip who not only had more men, but more weapons. The only thing going for those people at the prison was the fact that they cared for one another. Big whoop.

And yet she was still going back to them. They never used her or lied with a straight face. They still cared, even if they couldn't trust her like how they once did.

Sneaking out through one of the fences was easy enough since Phillip and his men were out doing God-knows-what, leaving the less experienced behind to guard the town. She merely located a loose board on one of the concealed fence posts on the east side and after several minutes of sweaty prying, managed to yank it out of its frame. She replaced the section she had torn away so that no walkers would be attracted to it, but wasted no more time in dilly dallying. There was no telling when Phillip would be back and once he discovered that she had done a bunk on him, he would be after her in a heartbeat, so she needed to put as much distance between herself and the town as possible.

She had the clickable knife Rick had given her, but Martinez collected her gun, so she only had the one weapon to use against walkers—and humans. Her bag with the rest of her clothes had been left behind, but this was much easier to do this time than it had been fleeing the Greene farm with walkers on her tail for miles. She had left everything in the house; her memoirs of Amy and her dad, Dale's hat, and other keepsakes that she had deemed important enough to grab when the world went to hell. Now, however, her personal belongings consisted of replaceable clothing items so she wasted no time in gathering them when she knew every second was crucial.

She sprinted for the cover of trees when the wall guard looked the other way and then doubled back north by taking the long way through the woods. Once Woodbury was out of sight and sound she slowed down to a jog as a temporary respite, knowing that she would have to pace herself accordingly and not burn out all of her energy in the first few miles. As she calculated how many times she could break into a run without killing herself, she heard a lone voice call her name—the very last voice she expected to hear in walker-invested territory with the sun setting quickly over the treetops.

"Andrea! _Andrea_—damn it…"

Deciding she had best find him first rather than let him add more noise to the racket he was already making in pursuit of her, she turned back around and wended her way through the underbrush as she listened to his fumbling footfalls and his increasingly panicked voice. Not long after, she spotted him stumbling around aimlessly as he consulted a compass and scratched at his head, looking thoroughly crestfallen and frustrated. He had his winter coat on in place of his duct tape suit and a small bag of what-nots slung over his shoulder as well as a scalpel that looked as if it had been stolen from Phillip's workbench in the back of the lab. Breathing heavily, he came to a halt and ran his forearm under his red nose to wipe away the runny phlegm that had accumulated from the cold.

"Milton, I don't think there was anyone within ten miles who didn't hear you," she called as she approached him.

Spinning around in relief, Milton had the shadow of a smile on his boyish face which was coated in a sheen of sweat.

"I thought I'd waited too long to catch up to you—"

"If you're coming with me, we need to get moving now," Andrea interrupted. "You alerted every walker in the area to our location and the wall guard might have heard you as well so we're going to have to move quickly and quietly which means dodging around walkers if we come across them rather than engage. We'll be running—you _can_ run, can't you?"

"I can," said Milton a bit defensively but then added in apologetic tones, "but not very far and not for long. I have asthma—it's not as bad as when I was a kid, but my inhaler ran out so I've been trying to be careful and—"

"_Milton—"_

"I'll do my best."

/

As it so happened, Milton's best was ranked somewhere between an elementary school child on the last lap of a ten mile sprint and someone with a broken ankle. They would jog for fifteen yards or so and then have to come to a halt so that he could catch his breath, clutching at a tree for support as he bent double wheezing. Andrea wanted to shout at him, wanted to be thoroughly upset with his lack of physical fitness, but the idea died in her mind when she saw him sucking in breath through his nose and carefully letting it out his mouth with his eyes clasped shut. She had seen this before in children at the nursery school she volunteered at between college classes and so she suddenly had an image of Milton as an overgrown preschool kid learning how to steady his breath for the first time. It wasn't his fault that he had asthma or that he succumbed quickly to fatigue.

Unsure of how to help, she cautiously rested her hand on his back in an attempt to rub it soothingly but his own hand snapped out at her and brushed it away.

"I'm…fine…just…give…me…a…second…"

She forgot that Milton didn't like to be touched. All she could do now was wait for him to gain control of his—

Milton pointed frantically at something behind Andrea and she saw a walker lumbering towards them. She didn't want to leave Milton unguarded in case more appeared out of the blue, but she didn't want it to get in any closer and so she grabbed the sleeve of Milton's coat and dragged him along, away from the walker which continued to stalk them until they scaled a steep hill and left it behind. By now the sun had set and the temperature was dropping drastically which was extremely dangerous when coupled with their sweat. If either of them caught hypothermia…

She hated herself for doing it, but she pushed Milton to his extreme physical limits because for all the time they lost in letting him steady his breathing, Phillip was gaining ground in coming after them and if it came down to a confrontation, she would have to defend Milton as well as herself.

Several times she couldn't help but wonder if perhaps Milton had been safer staying in Woodbury, if she wasn't, in fact, leading him to a premature death on this road. If he didn't die on the way to the prison, he could very well get himself killed once _at _the place because of his inexperience and his timid nature. Twice she had had to rescue him from situations where his blindness and unwillingness to act would have been the death of him had she not been there, but she couldn't keep this up while at the prison. Her friends all knew how to defend themselves and would not waste time on someone like Milton which meant that the job would be hers alone, but it was a job she couldn't afford to have at this time.

Guided by moonlight, they came to a vast stretch of open field on level ground, which Andrea thought might provide some respite from the ever-sloping and uneven ground, but even as she thought so, she saw walkers milling around so that there was no clear cut path through them. Going around would take too long, but going through would mean trusting Milton to have her back. Her choices were limited.

"Milton, you're going to have to cover me," she said, preparing her knife for battle. "Just guard me and I'll get us through but keep one hand on my back at all times; I don't want to lose you in the dark."

"Okay," said Milton simply as if she had asked him to help her wipe down tables after a picnic gathering.

"Hey, look at me."

She couldn't tell exactly if he had his eyes on her in the darkness, but his head was twisted in her direction so she continued in a no-bullshit tone. "I mean it, Milton. You have to stay with me. Don't let go of me, even for a second or you'll fall behind and I won't know until I'm on the other side of the field. I know how you are with—with physical contact, but please, do this for me."

"Okay," he said again and took hold of the back of her jacket vest in a vise-like grip that a toddler would have with a mother's fingers when crossing the street.

Andrea moved fast, going briskly from walker to walker and dispatching them with clean cuts to the eye. She didn't waste time double-tapping because they were hurrying along at such a pace that by the time the walkers stood back up if she hadn't completely managed to kill them, she and Milton would be well out of reach. A few times she leaned forward slightly to feel that there was a tug of resistance from behind, assuring her that Milton was still in tow. Then, when they had nearly reached the other side of the field, she heard it.

Something on four wheels was coming fast in their direction and she spun around to see headlights piercing the night. Without thinking, without waiting for consent, she yanked hard on Milton's arm and pulled him down beside her. Through the long grass, they could see the lights moving closer and Andrea pressed herself as flat against the ground as possible. Milton's hand shook with a hold on the scalpel but whether it was from fear or cold, she couldn't tell.

When the vehicle was close enough that Andrea could feel the freezing, compacted dirt beneath her trembling, the engine switched off. Panting with the exertion of the flight through the field, Andrea copied Milton and put the breathing technique to use. She heard the truck door open and the sound of a walker growling as it neared its potential prey but after a moment, there came a dull _thunk_ followed by the rev of the engine again. It was going, going, gone, and she finally deemed it safe enough to look up.

A walker bore down on her, clammy blood-stained hands black with loss of color in the moonlight. Milton tackled it around the knees and then stabbed its forehead with the scalpel. Almost immediately he threw himself backwards, frantically attempting to rub the blood that had squirted out of the walker's head off of his hand in the dirt. His quick, rather noisy movements were sure to attract more walkers and Andrea, though grateful for his timing, had to subdue him. She took his hand in hers, and made a shushing sound that seemed to work like some kind of an off switch on Milton.

"You're okay," she whispered.

"The blood—" he said meekly.

"Blood comes off. We'll find a stream and wash it away."

"Blood," he murmured again, sounding and looking utterly helpless.

"Milton, don't fall to pieces on me. We have to keep moving, understand?"

"Phillip's on the move."

"Yes, that was Phillip and I don't think you want him to find you sitting here in the dirt obsessing over some blood on your hand, do you? Come on, stand up."

She hauled him to his feet, retrieved the scalpel from the walker's head, and after wiping it off on the ground, handed it back to him. "Your weapon, Mr. Mamet," she said, and then led him on into the night.


	2. Chapter 2: Physical Contact

**MERLE**

"Anything?" asked Rick.

"All's quiet, Officer Friendly," said Merle without much enthusiasm. The small joy of verbally abusing Rick had lost its appeal after the former lawman returned from the parlay with the Governor. With open war brewing, the time for joking around was at an end and even Merle knew that things had to take a serious turn now. He had thought that he had Daryl could make it on their own as they once did, but his stubborn baby brother refused to leave his people, which left Merle with the sole option of locking himself up in yet another prison to wait for the tidal wave of gunfire to fall.

"I'll take over from here," said Rick without looking at him and there was a moment of tense silence in which Merle thought that he might even dare to say, "Go get some rest," which was typically the standard phrase for one watchman to say to the next. Rick, however, probably could give a rat's ass if Merle got any rest that night. Merle had his hand on the main cellblock door to go back inside when—

"No, wait. Look there."

Merle squinted though the darkness to try and make out what Rick was pointing to, but all his eyes could distinguish were biters here and there.

"Yeah, biters, that's a rare occurrence, that is," he said with a yawn and again attempted to go inside to the warmth of moldy-smelling blankets and stained cots but Rick put a hand on his shoulder and steered him towards the fence.

"No, look—comin' up the path."

Merle gazed at the rec yard where biters were roaming about with no clear direction, bumping into one another and getting snagged on barbed wire. On the path that appeared grey in the light of the moon, however, he saw two figures walking deliberately towards the courtyard while trying not to attract attention from the surrounding corpses. Unease gripped him, thoughts of a trap or a ruse to distract them flashed across his mind and he immediately raised his AK-47, scanning the perimeter fence for signs of the Governor watching them. Rick put the scope on his M4A1 to his eye and stepped behind the bulk crate which provided a type of shield against anyone aiming in from the outside.

"I don't see anythin' out there," he concluded after a moment.

"That's what's s'posed t'happen in a good ambush," said Merle flatly. "But they could still be out there so don't relax just yet."

"If I relaxed every time I _thought_ the coast was clear, I wouldn't have made it this far," Rick replied a bit defensively.

Merle scoffed and watched the two figures come closer until suddenly one of the biters turned on them and extended its deceased hands to grab the taller one's arm. The other kicked it hard in the stomach and then started sprinting for the gate with their companion attempting to keep up. Alerted to the presence of two highly edible humans in their midst, the biters began to swarm towards the courtyard, their demonic growling rising to a din in pursuit of the humans.

"Cover me," said Merle and without waiting for Rick's consent, stole forward to the circle of parked cars in the courtyard, keeping his weapon at waist height. He took temporary cover behind the vehicle closest to the gate and could now clearly distinguish a male and a female running up the path.

"Open the gate!" shouted the female.

_Andrea_. What in the hell was she doing back here? Merle ran to the gate, tucking his weapon under his arm and fumbling clumsily with the chains which were all that stood between them and the biters. Behind him Rick was cursing at him, but he didn't care. The key was in the lock and Merle twisted it, wrenching the chains apart just enough so that Andrea and her companion could squeeze through. The male tripped over his own feet and toppled onto her but Merle turned his back on them, tightening the chains once again and securing the lock as the biters reached the gate and tried to stick their arms through the holes.

Out of sheer impulse, Merle stabbed one biter in the nostril with his blade attachment and then looked down on Andrea who was breathing quite heavily but nowhere near as heavy or desperately as her friend—Milton. The shouts had aroused the others and Daryl, Michonne, Glenn, and Maggie came running out into the courtyard with flashlights shining every which way. One hit Merle full on in the face and he threw up his arms to shield himself.

"Andrea-?"

"Where did you come from?"

"Who's that?"

"Merle, you idiot!"

Peeking through the gap in his arms, Merle shrugged innocently. "Aw, c'mon now, don't tell me you wouldda stood there and done nothin', Officer Friendly."

Rick stormed over to him, stepping dangerously close to his personal bubble zone. "That wasn't your call to make. You put us all at risk to open the gate and you had no right—"

"Save it, pal."

Looking livid by torchlight, Rick opened his mouth to retort, when Daryl spoke up, dragging Milton to his feet by the back of his collar so that he was no longer lying atop Andrea.

"Why the hell'd you bring this little prick with you?" he asked her. Merle saw Milton's eyes narrow behind his circular glasses, saw his hand tighten around the blood-stained scalpel in his hand.

Though he could not hear it over the sound of the others talking and questioning Andrea, Merle saw Milton's lips form the sentence, _Let go of me_.

"Thought he was the Governor's lapdog or somethin'," said Daryl, eyeing Milton with distaste, but completely overlooking the expression on the other man's face.

"Let—go," said Milton, his teeth clenched this time as he spoke just audibly.

"He's fine, let him go, Daryl," said Andrea urgently, but too late. Milton clawed at Daryl's arm and raised his armed hand but Merle, who had seen this type of behavior once before from him, seized him in a headlock and brought him to his knees. Still fighting and fuming, Milton struggled and thought Merle knew he was not solving the problem of Milton disliking to be touched by touching him, he also knew how the Governor had handled the situation and so he held on. He was not, however, going to speak softly to Milton and play Mom like the Governor had done when Milton lapsed before.

"Let go of me!" shouted Milton.

"Drop what's in your hand, son," said Merle, careful so as not to stab Milton with his blade.

"Gerroff, get—_off_!"

"That was my brother you was aimin' t'maim, Miltie and I ain't lettin' up 'til you stand down. Drop it now!"

Milton, it seemed, had a stubborn streak about him and despite his loathing of physical contact, his anger at Daryl for manhandling him appeared to overlap the former feelings. Merle tightened his grip across Milton's windpipe, hoping that the lack of oxygen running to the man's lungs would force him into submission.

"Merle, you're choking him, let go!"

Andrea was at his arm, tugging and beating her fist against his bicep and finally, he let go. Milton sprawled forward, hand releasing the scalpel as he gagged on the air and rubbed at his throat, which still had marks on it from where Merle had held him.

"What the _hell_ is the matter with you?" Andrea shrieked, shoving him before dropping to her knees to comfort Milton. The four-eyed Governor's pet, however, wouldn't accept any help from her and so the lot of them waited out the next minute or so listening to him wheeze and spit.

When he seemed to have found his voice, he croaked, "Damn you, Merle Dixon."

Merle shrugged. "You made a bad move, son. Pulling a blade on my brother's the stupidest thing you couldda done with me standin' right next t'you."

"Excuse me, but I want to know why the two of you are here and why you brought _him_," said Glenn distastefully, pointing at Milton. "And another thing, what's his problem?"

"We left," said Andrea simply. "We couldn't get Phillip on his own to end this thing before anyone else gets hurt, so we snuck out, but he's driving around looking for us. It's a miracle we got this far with the near misses we've had tonight."

"But who _is_ he?" asked Carol, her weapon still trained on Milton, though Merle had to laugh at her because if she—if any of them—knew anything about Milton Mamet, they'd know how little of a threat he was. True, he had just done a Hulk on Daryl, but that was only because he was having one of his episodes.

"Milton Mamet," said Daryl. "He's the Governor's _advisor_ or some bullshit. At least, that's what he told me when we went to negotiate."

"As in _advising_ the Governor to have Merle beat the shit out of Glenn?" asked Rick, stepping closer to Milton and towering over him as Milton still knelt, massaging his neck. "_Advising_ the Governor to declare war on us?"

"Rick," said Hershel quietly, "I can vouch for him. He's a recorder and an observer, an experimenter and a _person_ above all else, but he's not a soldier and not a mercenary. He's known the Governor for longer than the breakout, isn't that right, son?"

Milton nodded hopefully, wincing as he swallowed.

"And what is your major malfunction, Milton Mamet?" asked Rick, squatting down so that now he was on eye level with Milton, but keeping his hand near the Colt Python at his waist. Again, Merle snorted. Major malfunction didn't even begin to describe Milton, but it wasn't his place to speak up for anyone but Daryl.

"Epileptic seizures," said Milton hoarsely. "I resent physical contact."

"And so you thought you'd go and stab Daryl for touching you?"

"He doesn't think like that, Rick," said Hershel. "All reason escapes him when he flies into an episode and he can't think. His brain just tells him that he's being attacked and so he fights back, attempting to eliminate the threat. In this case, Daryl was the threat and Milton had a weapon so he sought to use it. He knows what he did was wrong, but not until after the fact."

"And what makes you the expert?" asked Merle, more out of curiosity than indignation.

"My brother was epileptic," Hershel explained. "He died young, and when I was a child there weren't treatments and solutions to episodes like there are today so I learned how to contain him when he went into a fit. I can promise you that Milton here's more of a danger to himself than anyone else, though if you get unnecessarily rough with him," Hershel cast a disapproving glance at Daryl, "he won't take it lightly."

"Great, I'll keep that in mind," Daryl grumbled.

"May I stand up?" asked Milton, appealing to Rick who nodded slightly, backed up, and watched Milton sway in place as he came to his feet. With one hand holding his lungs and the other still at his throat, Milton turned to address Daryl.

"I know that this wasn't a very good first impression," he said, visibly straining to get every word out. "I didn't come here to hurt anyone and I apologize for my-my outburst. I can't promise it won't happen again, but I will do my best to remove myself from your company if I feel the onset in time. That is—if you allow me to stay."

Andrea sidled over to him and spoke directly to Rick. "Please, Rick. Woodbury is full of decent people, good, innocent people but they're all afraid of you and of what's outside their wall so they follow Phillip's lead because he's a capable leader. Milton's been outside the walls and he knows what Phillip is, which is why he came with me. He's my friend—probably the only one I've constantly had throughout my time in Woodbury—and Phillip would have killed him if he had stayed."

Exactly what Milton had done that would have caused the Governor to suddenly turn on his guinea pig, Merle would have liked to know, but figured he would have to gather the information himself since neither Andrea nor Milton seemed to be in the mood for sharing. The Governor had given Merle up because of a lie (aided by Michonne putting her sword through the Governor's biter-daughter's head) but Merle had been his lieutenant, so what could helpless, hopeless, gutless Milton have done to earn the same betrayal?

"You're responsible for his actions," Rick told Andrea. "You watch him and keep tabs on him at all times. If something goes wrong inside the prison and the Governor's behind it, he's the first one I'm blaming, understand?"

"Thank you, Rick."

"Consider yourself on probation, Mr. Mamet."

_That makes two of us_. However, Merle secretly dreaded that once the group got a feel for who Milton truly was, they would accept him into the fold a lot more willingly and quickly than they would accept Merle, if they ever did.


	3. Chapter 3: Foreign

**MILTON**

"What's the matter, haven't you ever seen a baby before?"

It wasn't that Milton hadn't seen a baby before, but it had been about six years since he was in such close proximity to one and he remembered how fragile and unpredictable they were. One second they were nestled quietly in their caregiver's arms and the next they were shrieking at the top of their lungs, attempting to communicate some sort of discomfort without the ability to speak. Milton was quite sure that _he _had never been so fussy as an infant, partially because by the time he was a year old he had overcome separation anxiety from his mother and sought out corners to sit and play in rather than snuggle up to her and listen to her read from colorful, pointless storybooks. Babies always needed something or another and so Milton found them to be quite irritating and foreign, which was why he promised himself that he would never have one of his own—but that would mean overcoming the obstacle of attracting a woman and then having to participate in much more than touching.

Still, he didn't want this young lady to know he was afraid of a baby, though he probably wasn't doing a very good job since he was sitting at the top of the stairs, eyeing the child warily as she lay cradled in the woman's arms.

"It's okay, really," said Beth. She had a soft quietness about her like her father, but Milton couldn't see much family resemblance. At the moment she looked highly amused at Milton's discomfort.

"She seems healthy," said Milton evasively.

"She is. Do you want to hold her?"

The notion was almost laughable. Almost. But Milton rarely laughed.

"Come down here; she won't bite," said Beth. "She's probably the only creature on this planet at this point who doesn't bite. Come on."

"Actually, I think I should be reporting to Rick for—"

"Milton, come down here," said Hershel, hobbling out of his cell on his crutches.

Hershel had spoken out for Milton when his fate stood in the void, so Milton figured the least he could do was walk down fifteen steps and see what the elderly man had to say, but he had a feeling that he knew what was coming. Four steps from the bottom he paused, waiting for Hershel to speak his peace, but the older man motioned with one of his crutches to where his daughter sat with the baby and Milton slowly sank down onto the rung beside her, keeping at least five inches between the two of them.

"If you're going to be staying with us, the baby needs to know you, familiarize herself with your touch," said Hershel. "If something were to happen and we became separated or had to leave the prison and by some chance you ended up with her, you would need to know how to keep her quiet and calm, which she might not be if she doesn't know you. Spend a while each day with her and by the end of the week she'll trust you."

_It's a baby,_ thought Milton. _She doesn't have the brain capacity to trust yet. _

"Here, hold out your arms for her," said Beth but Milton drew back instantly.

"I did mention last night that I'm not favorable towards physical contact, didn't I?"

Hershel came down onto his knee in front of Milton and put his hand on Milton's wrist. The touch was not forceful and not threatening, but still awkward and though every instinct within Milton was begging him to retreat from it, all he did was stare at Hershel's weathered hand as his heart pounded in his chest.

"You're breathing heavily," said Hershel. "Take it slow and calm down. You're not in any danger."

_Count to ten, focus on something else. You're safe. _He repeated the words his mother had taught him as a way of coping with his disorder. It had been a long time since he was forced to resort to counting but he still zeroed in on the concrete floor, observing the cracked pattern and smooth, bland coloring. Ten seconds passed and Hershel's hand was still on his wrist, but Milton's pulse had returned to normal.

"Good. Now, do you think you're up for holding the baby?"

"Um," Milton glanced at the infant in Beth's arms whose rosy little face was lax in her sleep, "maybe for today I could just watch her. Besides, she's asleep and moving her now might wake her up and I don't think a fussy child is the best way for me to adjust to dealing with one."

"Fair enough. I'll leave Beth to talk you through it then."

Hershel stumped back to his cell and Milton was about to make a noise of protest when the baby gave a small whimper. Milton froze, praying that she wouldn't wake up and after several tense seconds, she slept on with no complications. Beth smiled at him and shook her head.

"Her name is Judith. She's Rick's daughter."

"Who's her mother?" asked Milton. He had been trying to pair up Carol or Maggie with Rick and make the image of the baby fit with their genes, but since he was never very good at studying faces anyway, the effort was a lost cause.

"She didn't make it," Beth whispered. "Walkers got into the prison and we were separated for a while. Judith's momma couldn't deliver her normally and she had to be cut open."

The image Milton had of this birth occurring was not what jarred him, but rather the expressionless way Beth talked about it as if death—and a gruesome one at that—did not affect her.

"Anyway, we have to make formula runs to substitute for breast milk, so maybe Daryl or Glenn will take you with them. It'd be useful for you to get some practice."

"I'm not entirely sure that either of them would appreciate me accompanying them. Neither of them have any reason to respect or trust me after the situations they've been in, which is understandable. And I would only get in the way if I were to go with them because I haven't mastered any weapons yet."

"Neither have I, but you learn out of necessity, so don't worry."

Beth turned her head towards him, her eyes wide and alert. "Is it alright if I touch you?"

"Um…"

No one had ever _asked_ if they could touch him before. They either grabbed him or stared him dead-on in the eye as a way of telling him that they were about to put their hands on him. The fact that she had asked caught him completely off guard so that all he could do was nod.

She patted his arm with her free hand, her touch gentle like Hershel's but comforting. She wanted to reassure him, not try to prove a point with how interaction worked. And with that gesture, she was more sincere than anyone else had been so far.

"You're a good man," she told him. "Rick will see that soon enough."

Someone cleared their throat at the cellblock entrance and Beth quickly withdrew her hand as Maggie stalked in, arms folded crossly. She glared down at Milton as if he had done her a personal wrong.

"Merle wants to see you in the cantina," she said.

"Okay, thanks."

Without another word Maggie left and Beth frowned in her sister's absence. "Sorry. She's still upset about what the Governor had Merle do to her and Glenn. And the fact that you were there—"

"I didn't know what he was doing," said Milton earnestly. "I didn't even know that Glenn and Maggie were _there_. If I'm going to constantly be blamed for being a citizen of Woodbury just because it means I was in the same vicinity as Phillip, then how am I ever supposed to get anyone to trust me?"

"I believe you," said Beth. "I do, really, but no one here can confirm that and Glenn and Maggie went through a lot so they're not very forgiving."

"That's reassuring."

"Don't worry about it, they'll come around." She didn't sound hopeful. "You'd better go and see what Merle wants."

"Yes, because we all live to appease Merle," Milton added darkly, but went anyway. He found Merle selecting weapons at random from the supply spread out across two tables and wondered briefly, even with some excitement that was quite unnatural for him, if he was going to get to use something from the deadly arsenal.

Upon seeing him watching in reluctant awe, Merle straightened up and set aside the machete he had in his hand. "Mornin' Miltie, how'd you sleep?"

Surprised that Merle would ask such a thing, Milton blinked and began, "Well, since you ask—"

"That's great. Pull up a seat, science boy, I'mma learn ya some weapon training."

Annoyed, Milton sat down in front of the weapons, thinking that at least one of them would be a proper fit for him, something manageable for a man who might accidentally shoot his toe off if he panicked.

"So…what exactly are you going to attempt to do here?"

"You've gotta prove your use somehow, Miltie. Baby's the only one here who can't use a gun besides you, but what's your excuse?"

"I don't know the first thing about firing a weapon, you know that," said Milton a bit crossly. "I know they're dangerous and that they should be respected, but I've only ever held one to pass it on to someone else and once to load it for Phillip."

"Which is why we're startin' small and workin' up to it. Today's lesson is the basics. We'll be studying the ancient and delicate art of the stick. Catch."

Merle tossed Milton a fire poker which Milton promptly dropped on his knee and then let clatter to the floor. Embarrassed, he bent down to retrieve it and bonked the back of his head on the table as he tried to sit up. Now with two throbbing limbs he sheepishly set the poker back on the table and saw Merle fighting to either keep from laughing or rolling his eyes.

"We've got a long way t'go, knucklehead."

"Are you sure you're the best person to be teaching me how to use weapons? You're not exactly good for anyone's moral."

Merle prodded Milton roughly in the chest, making him sit so far backward that he was in danger of overextending his spine. "Look, Mamet, are y'lookin' for someone t'hold your hand with every little mistake you make, or are d'you want t'actually learn how to shoot one've these damn things like a man? We ain't got time t'smell the roses here, numbnuts, and I'm the only one who's got military experience so that makes me qualified t'teach you. Also, since Officer Rick and Company aren't as trustin've me or you, they've seen fit t'keep the two've us together where they can watch us so's we don't stir up trouble. Now pick up the poker and stand up!"

Milton had his hand extended towards the close combat weapon when Carol came sprinting inside, hollering, "Everyone come out, there's a convoy coming up the road!"

Swearing, Merle chose a rifle, shoved another one into Milton's hands, and beckoned that he follow him outside.


	4. Chapter 4: With Us

**ANDREA**

Six cars packed with Woodbury citizens stood at their gates. Phillip led the convoy himself, sitting shotgun and hanging out of the window like a dog enjoying the breeze. It would have been funny if not for the expression on his face that wished the most gruesome of deaths to each and every individual inside the prison. One of his lackeys drove each of the cars and they positioned them in a horizontal line in front of the makeshift gate that Rick and the others had constructed as a temporary barrier. It might keep out the dead, but it would do nothing against Phillip's cars.

Behind their wooden barriers surrounding the interior perimeter of the courtyard, Andrea and her nine companions watched the procession, knowing that even with their new supply of weapons, they would not be able to hold off a full frontal attack if Phillip decided to charge through the gates and storm the main area. She saw Carol with her eye to a scope, her expression grim as she regarded Phillip's men. When last Andrea knew Carol, the latter had never even held a gun in hand and certainly never had such a hard look on her face. She had been a woman of fear and tears. Beside her Carl just barely stood on tiptoe to see out of a break in the crates. A sickly boy nursing a bullet wound and a prepubescent voice was how she remembered this miniature Rick Grimes. Rick senior took the front position, the place of the leader and on either side of him were his two best men, Daryl and Glenn. Both men had changed in opposite ways; where Glenn used to be overly trusting and easy going, now he regarded Phillip with bloodlust in his eyes while Daryl had opened up, letting himself befriend the others. Michonne and Maggie were on the far right, glancing every so often at each other in unease. And on Daryl's other side was Merle, absent his mocking grin, but still striking quite the impressive figure for a man who had a handicap. Standing on Merle's left, Andrea's right was Milton whose hands shook on the rifle he held and Andrea saw that the safety was on.

It seemed like another lifetime ago when Rick had reminded her to take the safety off of her Ladysmith as she threatened him in Atlanta. Now she reached over and switched the safety off as Milton glanced down in puzzlement.

"Your weapon is live now," she told him seriously. "All you have to do is point and pull the trigger so don't go crazy with it and be careful where you aim it. Stick close to me if something goes down, okay?" She saw Merle lean around Milton to raise an inquisitive eyebrow and then decided to add on a whim, "Me or Merle."

"Yeah…" said Merle with a bit of a sarcastic tone. "I'll watch your ass, Miltie, just don't shoot at it."

"This is bad," said Milton, stepping nervously from foot to foot. "This is very bad."

"Quit potty dancin' and keep your eyes forward, son," said Merle as Phillip came around the side of the middle car and raised a bullhorn to his mouth.

_No, that'll attract more walkers._

Apparently Phillip realized the same thing, for he turned the horn on and made several attempts at clearing his throat before addressing them. "There's thirteen of you in there. Thirteen including a crippled man, a teenage boy, and a baby. Seems an unlucky number, wouldn't y'say? Well, me, being the good neighbor that I am, would like to remedy your misfortune. You have something of mine and I'd like my personal belongings back. There are four individuals I require if I were to turn my back on this place and forget that I ever knew there were people here. I want Michonne, Merle, Andrea, and Milton. Send 'em out to me and the rest of you walk free. I only offer this once."

As one, Andrea, Milton, Merle, and Michonne turned to Rick, anxious for his judgment. This was a very real threat and one that could not be turned down or ignored at any cost, but what if Rick _did_ hand the four of them over? Phillip would do away with them as he pleased and then, when he had had his fun, he would come back just to finish the rest of them off for good measure. Rick had to know that, so what in the hell was he going to do?

"He's waitin', Officer Rick," Merle prompted and Andrea wanted to hiss at him to shut up because his attitude was not earning him any bonus points with Rick.

"Gimme a second here, Dixon," said Rick, walking over to Andrea. His stare was accusatory, but Andrea did not back down. She knew the doubt she saw there, the same doubt he always had when faced with a moral decision, except this time his hand was on his holster and he had every intention of using it if she worded her answer incorrectly.

"Well?" he said.

"We're here, Rick," Andrea assured him. "All of us."

"Y'aren't just saying that because you think it's what I wanna hear? Maybe this'll help." He took her by the arm, pulling her in until they were almost nose to nose and she could smell the sweat on him. Out of the corner of her eye Andrea saw Milton start to raise his rifle.

"It's fine," she said, hoping Rick would take it as her answering the question and not telling Milton to back down.

"You've seen the things I've done to protect everyone. You know what I can do to anyone who fucks with that. I wanna know once and for all, are—you—with—us?"

"Yes," she said strongly. "Whatever happens, we're with you."

Rick released her and spun around to face Michonne at the other end of the fence. "Do you swear loyalty to this group? I need a yes or no answer right now."

"Yes," said Michonne, her head held proudly.

"Dixon?" asked Rick. "Merle Dixon. Whatever infectious disease is hovering over us, making every second you spend here tense, it's gonna end one way or another right here, right now. If you're with us, you're gonna start showin' respect t'everyone here and you're gonna apologize where it's due with sincerity. So can we trust you?"

Andrea thought Rick was asking for a miracle in getting Merle "Don't Take Orders From No Man Who Left Him To Rot On A Roof" Dixon to apologize to Glenn, Maggie, and Michonne. Merle hated being forced into anything, especially if a threat backed it up.

"I'm all yours, Officer Rick," said Merle. "That asshole out there tried t'kill me'n my brother; all y'did was handcuff me to a roof. Big difference. I ain't no man's man, but I'm here."

Though he didn't look entirely satisfied with Merle's answer, Rick nodded and lastly rounded on Milton.

"I don't know you. I hardly know anything about you, but what I do know is that you were the Governor's man before. To what extent that has meaning, I don't care, but if you're gonna be with us, you give up any hope of tryin' to reason with him right now. You don't make contact with him unless I authorize it and you don't make contact with anyone else in Woodbury. Is that clear?"

Milton nodded, but it wasn't enough.

"Verbal assent, Mr. Mamet. The rest of them said it, now it's your turn."

"I'm here as well."

"Then be ready, all of you."

Rick returned to his post and hollered because he, after all, had no bullhorn, "These are our people. We don't sell them out"

Phillip's magnified voice had no humor in it as he laughed. "Your people are your people, Rick. Four of them aren't _yours_. They were mine first."

"Bullshit they were. Andrea and Merle were with us before you ever found them. Michonne was never yours and never will be."

"And Milton?"

Andrea closed her eyes, praying that Phillip wasn't about to bring up the argument she thought he was because not only would it upset Milton, it would give him doubts and probably give Rick doubts as well.

"You can't tell me that Milton is, in any way, _yours_. You only met 'im yesterday, didn't you? He doesn't belong there and you don't want 'im. Let 'im come home."

"We claim him," said Rick and Andrea could have kissed him for that. She saw hope in Milton's eyes, but then Phillip broke the moment of reprieve.

"Let him speak for himself."

"He's got nothin' t'say t'you. You aren't gettin' our people. They're _all_ ours."

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

"COVER!" Rick roared and hit the ground as bullets struck the cart stacks. Andrea grabbed the front of Milton's shirt and pulled him down, but let go as soon as they were on the ground. She kept her arms over her head, waiting for a signal or some sort of rallying point but what could they do against six cars full of angry citizens out for blood?

With the amount of bullets peppering Andrea's cart stack, it would not hold and with a great creak, toppled over onto her, trapping her beneath it and exposing the others. She heard Rick issuing orders to reinforce the fence here or there, to run back in and get more weapons, to do _something_.

Milton took Andrea's hand and began to pull her out from under the stack. Instead of taking the easy option and lifting it off of her, he dragged her horizontally because standing up would mean exposing himself to the gunfire. When she had all but cleared the stack, the onslaught suddenly came to a halt. Merle shielded his eyes against the sun overhead to get a better look at the outer fence.

"They're leavin'. I don't believe it, they're actually _leavin'_."

"No, they aren't," said Milton, hand still in Andrea's though he seemed quite unaware of it.

"Awe, c'mon, man, that tactic ain't gonna work here," Merle argued.

"But you know how stubborn he is," Milton pointed out.

"He ain't got as many experienced men with 'im this time, though. Most've 'em in the trucks were just _people_."

"Perhaps, but he'll spread them out nonetheless."

"Can I cut in here?" Rick stuck his hand between Milton and Merle as if trying to divide them up after a physical brawl. "What are you two going on about?"

"He's making it look like he's retreating, but he's going to drive the cars out of sight and then have everyone double back on foot to attack the fences and make us keep our heads down," Milton explained. "If they can't get in, they'll make sure we can't get out. Phillip doesn't give up so easily."

"And I still think he'd be stupid t'try that here with over half his force unsure how t'use a gun," Merle added. "He's got maybe twelve men in fightin' condition, enough t'match us. The rest are just cannon fodder."

Rick scratched his temple with the barrel of his Colt Python. Appealing to Milton, he asked, "You think he'll come back on foot?"

"I'm positive. Phillip has a style of what he thinks is unpredictability, but I've observed him and I know how his mind works. He'll position all of the people in the trees so that we can't spot them and then they'll try to pick us off one by one as we come out for guard duty or any time we let ourselves go lax in security. Unless there's a back entrance to this place, we can't get out to sneak around them."

"Oh, there's a back entrance," Rick assured him.


	5. Chapter 5: Piss-Poor Promise

**MERLE**

It was one thing to have to listen to biters growling outside the window in Woodbury from time to time with little to be done to prevent it, but listening to someone who was deliberately singing at three in the morning after Merle had come in from watch duty was downright inconsiderate. He didn't care that the girl was doing it to rock the baby to sleep; it sure wasn't putting _him_ to sleep. Even pressing the pillow over his ears could not block out Beth's warble and so in a rage, he stormed down the catwalk to where she was pacing back and forth on ground level, holding the baby who was whimpering.

"Hey, y'wanna put a sock in it? People're tryin' t'sleep," he hissed down at her.

Beth stopped her pacing and faced him with an ugly look. "If she wails through the night, you aren't gettin' any sleep. Unless you've got a better way to quiet her down, this is what works and everyone else here is used to it."

"Don't try me, sweetheart, I ain't in the mood for this."

"Then go into a different cell block."

"Listen here—"

"Merle, mind what you say next," came Hershel's voice from within his cell across from the catwalk. "You gave Rick your word that you'd make amends."

Merle could have told the old man to piss off. He could have raised his voice and woken up the entire cellblock which was what he surely would have done before today, but something in the way Hershel spoke to him actually calmed him. Instead of berating him for speaking so harshly to his daughter, Hershel was calmly reminding him of the promise he made to make an effort to belong to the group. So far, he was doing a shit-poor job.

Raising his arms, Merle rested them atop his head and blew air hard out through his nose. "Okay…okay. Jus'—jus' do your thing, I'm goin' back t'bed."

"If you could help, she'll go down a lot faster," Beth called in a new, brighter tone.

"Um, no."

"Please? I just need to get a bottle ready for her. If you could just hold her for a second…"

"If it really is a second. I ain't good with kids and I shouldn't be holdin' one neither."

"Same thing I told Milton, Merle," came Hershel's voice again. "The baby needs to get used to you. Come down here."

"Nooooo…" said Merle, backing up.

The baby started to wail since Beth had remained stationary for too long and Beth glanced up at Merle pointedly. "She's gonna cry for a while unless you—"

Merle staggered down the steps and reluctantly held out his arms for the baby, anticipating an even louder shriek from the infant once she sensed his unwillingness to hold her. Beth placed her in Merle's hold and then ran out to the cantina to prepare her formula, leaving Merle with a ticking time bomb. The baby regarded him with a pout and whimpered as her bare legs were suddenly exposed to the cold.

"Keep her warm," Beth called.

_Right, keep the baby warm._

How else was he supposed to do that without holding her against his chest? Merle brought her in closer and let her sit on his right arm, covering as much of her legs as he could with his other hand to hold her upright, though the metal from his handicap probably wasn't very warm. Setting her head back against his shoulder, the baby looked up at him as if to say, _You suck at this, you know that?_

"What?" he said indignantly, but only so she could hear him.

Beth came running back over with a ready bottle and a paper bag and Merle turned towards her expectantly but Beth rolled her eyes and rested the bottle against her hip. "You're pathetic."

"Whatever, here, take her."

"She's asleep now, I'm not going to take her."

Horrified, Merle looked down to see the baby nestled against the crook of his shoulder with her eyes closed softly in repose. He shot Beth a look of loathing. "You planned this," he whispered angrily.

"I did no such thing. She's just comfortable with you so she fell asleep. I'll give her the bottle when she wakes up but I'm not moving her now that she's finally out. If you want you can go and have a lie down on my bed; I'll stay with my dad until she's up again. Just holler if you need me."

"Now hold up just one damn minute here—"

"Oh, and here's your dinner. I know you didn't eat," Beth added, holding out the paper bag.

Caught off guard by the statement, Merle changed his approach at lightning speed. "I ain't—what? You been keepin' tabs on me or somethin', how'd you figure I didn't eat?"

"You were on duty through dinner and you doubled to take over for Michonne and then went straight upstairs. Plus, the food's rationed out until we can go on another run and I saw that yours hadn't been taken yet, so here."

Merle took the bag, drumming his fingers awkwardly against the rough material as Beth stood waiting for him to speak again.

"Alright, that's—yeah, okay."

"Thanks for takin' care of her for a while, it really helps me out. That one's my cell," she said, pointing to the one closest to the cell block door. Merle trudged over to her cell which looked as uninhabited and ordinary as all the others except this one had a crib and miscellaneous baby items. Muttering darkly under his breath, he sank down onto the edge of Beth's bunk and the baby adjusted herself so that she was now sideways on his arm with her face half hidden in his wife beater.

"This's all your fault," he told her as he ruffled inside the paper bag and surfaced with some beef jerky and a candy bar. Ripping off the plastic with his teeth, he inhaled half of the chocolate and caramel bar in one bite and appreciated the irony of waiting for the little terror in his arms to wake up.

/

"Someone help!"

Merle sat up, bonking his head on the top bunk and almost forgetting that he still had the baby in his arms. She gave a startled cry and whimpered as the two of them listened to Andrea calling from above. Dashing out into the corridor, Merle saw Glenn and Maggie poke their head out of one cell while Carol, Michonne, and Carl each came out of others. With the paper bag still in hand and the baby clutching him in fear, Merle ran to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time and found Andrea trying to calm Milton down in his own cell as his legs kicked and hands clenched. His breathing was panicked and uneven and Andrea had her hand over his heart.

"Breathe, Milton, come on!"

Merle hurried over to her and she shook her head helplessly. "I don't know what to do."

Wordlessly, Merle handed over the baby and Andrea took her as Merle flattened out the paper bag and then bunched the opening up to make a small breathing hole which he pressed to Milton's lips. He made Milton sit up against his leg and instructed him to exhale into the bag. Only a small amount of air expelled into the bag, but Milton sucked it back in greedily, paused, and tried again, this time with a bigger result. Andrea held the baby, bouncing her lightly to calm her since Milton's wheezing apparently scared her.

"Go on, I got this," said Merle, shooing Andrea away.

Reluctant though she looked to leave, the baby was getting fussy and having two people who needed immediate attention in the same room was not doing either of them any favors, so she went, leaving Merle to continue to prop Milton up and help him hold his faux inhaler. A quick glance around the room told Merle that Milton preferred the top bunk since the cot looked slept in with a scrunched up blanket and Milton's glasses dangling off the side of the wire support. Merle had never seen Milton without his spectacles on, but his eyes looked smaller, narrower, and beady like he was silently judging (the prescriptive lenses magnified his eyes to insect size).

"How didja manage t'fall outta the bed," Merle mused aloud and was therefore surprised when Milton gasped out an answer between breaths, his voice slightly muffled by the bag.

"Panic…attack…night…mare…"

"This better not happen every night, I'm tellin' ya right now, son."

Milton glared at him out of the corner of his eye with such intensity that he looked possessed with his hazel eyes rolling upward to reveal the whiteness with bulging red veins. He seemed to be sending Merle a message that said, _Threatening someone who just had an asthma attack doesn't qualify as 'getting along'._

Minutes passed and no one else came to the cell either because Andrea had told them that Merle had it under control or else they just didn't give two shits about Milton Mamet and his delicate breathing condition. Milton's chest rose and fell in a slow, easy rhythm as Merle finally brought the bag away from his mouth. His grey undershirt was soaked through with sweat, his flannel pajama pants and socks wrinkled to the point that no iron could bring them back from all the kicking and rubbing against the floor he had done.

"Gonna sit up?" asked Merle and Milton nodded, holding Merle's appendage for support as Merle pushed him up with his hand at the small of Milton's back. He then called Andrea to return so that she and he could move Milton onto the lower bunk for the night.

Andrea appeared, saw what Merle was attempting to do, and switched the blanket and pillow to the bottom cot for Milton before supporting him onto it. As she and Merle lay him down, she checked his forehead and brought the blanket up to his chin like a concerned mother bundling up her child who had come down with an illness.

"Judith…" Milton groaned.

"She's fine, go back to sleep now. I'll be right here," said Andrea soothingly and Milton closed his eyes. She motioned to the door, indicating that Merle should follow and the two of them stepped out onto the catwalk.

"Thank you—for helping him," said Andrea, tugging distractedly at her ponytail.

"The hell happened?"

"I just heard him fall out of his bed and when I ran in, he was convulsing. I'd guess a nightmare, but I don't think he's had one in a long time, maybe since before the world went south. I panicked—sorry. It was lucky you had that bag on you."

Merle shrugged. "It had my dinner in it."

"You know, of everyone, I least expected you to run in and holding Judith at that."

"Is that her name? Funny, the old man's daughter never mentioned that."

"_The old man_ and _his daughter_ have names, Merle, and you should quit trying to distance yourself from them by refusing to use the names."

"Yeah, well names aside, you're welcome. Keep an eye on 'im, I'm goin' t'bed."

"That's it?" said Andrea incredulously. "Just waving off the fact that Milton could have died and that you don't care to learn anyone else's name here and then you're off to bed? You know, for the promises you make, Merle Dixon, you do a piss-poor job of keeping them. Should Rick have let Phillip take you?"

Merle stepped within an inch of Andrea's face. "If he had, you'dda been right there with me headin' for certain death. Don't think you're better than me, honey. I don't do well with people who talk down t'me and that's how we ended up on the wrong foot the last time—or don'tcha remember?" He held up his blade attachment for emphasis. "I ain't here t'make friends, no matter what I told Rick. I told 'im what he wanted t'hear 'cause you'n I both know he wouldda chucked me out if I'dda told 'im anythin' different. But let's get somethin' straight here: I'm gonna survive and s'long as y'all respect that and don't get in the way've that, we're cool. Rick'n anyone else who thinks that I'm gonna make amends with Glenn and Maggie's just foolin' themselves. It ain't happenin. I'm only lookin' out for two people here; one've 'em's me, the other ain't you."

"If you mean Daryl, then why did you just spend forty-five minutes helping Milton breathe through a paper bag at five o'clock in the morning?" asked Andrea.

Merle opened his mouth to retort, but for once he had nothing to say because in truth, he didn't know why. Perhaps his time at Woodbury had taught him to come running to actually help people at the sound of a scream. The people at that town had liked him and some of the boys had even hero-worshipped him so he returned the favor by looking out for them—until they turned on him. Hearing Andrea call for help brought back those memories and without thinking, he came to her aid and Milton's.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," said Andrea, and went back inside Milton's cell.


	6. Chapter 6: Evacuation

**MILTON**

A raging headache greeted him sometime around noon the next day. He kept his eyes closed, wishing the sun had stayed down for a few more hours as some of it hit his face through the cell bars. Someone had placed a blanket over him and he pulled it up to shield his eyes but after a few moments he could no longer hide beneath it since he was now gagging on his own stale breath. Steeling himself, he fumbled blindly around at the edge of the cot for his glasses, but he couldn't find them. He squinted around, figuring that they might have fallen from the bunk in the middle of the night, but as he rolled onto his right side he saw the floor swim up in a haze and collapsed back on the bed.

He heard steps on the catwalk and then someone's silhouette blocked the sunlight from touching him. Casting up his hand, he tried to make out the person's facial features but without his glasses everything was just a black blob.

"Andrea's on watch, asked me to check on you and bring you something to eat," said Maggie tonelessly. "There's a water bottle here and some trail mix. Couple of pain killers. My dad'll be in soon to make sure you're breathing okay."

She set another paper bag down at the foot of the bed next to the scrunched up one Milton had used as a breathing apparatus and turned to leave.

"Wait," said Milton, extending his arm to her. "Please, wait."

"What?" she asked rudely.

His head pounded with every syllable, but he knew that he had to bite back the pain if he wanted to make this work for himself. These people didn't trust him and he had yet to earn his keep, but he thought he knew where part of the problem lay and decided to use his words to his advantage.

"Have I done…something?" he inquired, still trying to bring Maggie into focus.

"Andrea told me you were intelligent but you're honestly asking me that right now? Rack your brains, Einstein."

"I do know…what Phillip did—to you and to Glenn, but only because your dad informed me. I didn't even know you were in Woodbury. I didn't know what Phillip was capable of or what he'd sent Merle to do."

"I think that's a load of hogwash," Maggie snapped.

"I swear, I had no idea."

Maggie stepped in closer so that Milton was able to vaguely make out her facial features. "Look me in the face and tell me that you didn't know."

"I would, but I can hardly _see_ your face—"

Maggie bent over, scooped up Milton's glasses and jammed them onto his nose so that he could now vividly see every raging detail. Her eyes met his and she dared him to lie to her. But Milton knew he was an abysmal liar so it would not be difficult to portray innocence.

"I didn't know.. Phillip kept me in the dark about his main intentions and the things I found out were only by deduction and educated guessing."

He couldn't tell if he had her convinced, but the scowl seemed to lesson on her features and she left without another word. His appetite was almost nonexistent but he knew he needed something in his system so he carefully chewed a quarter of his rationed trail mix bag and then guzzled down the water before crawling back into his cocoon of blankets to wait out the day. Once or twice he heard Judith making some noise on the first level, but the others remained respectively quiet. Andrea dropped in after her shift ended and he made room for her to sit down on the bed beside him.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, smoothing his blanket unnecessarily.

"Completely lousy, but I'll be fine in the morning," he assured her. "Despite everything wrong with me, I'm actually a quick healer."

"Still, I want to check your temperature," she said cautiously. He nodded to her and she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. The touch tingled slightly and perhaps that was because it was an act of concern. He could not remember being touched like this by anyone but his mother and he had resented her touch for however brief a time he had with her. Seven was not an age to lose one's parents, but since Milton never had an emotional attachment to either of his parents, it was not terribly upsetting.

"Do I pass your test?"

"Mine, yes, though Hershel could rule differently. You just take it easy and call if you need me, okay? I'm right next door."

"Merle was here, wasn't he?"

Andrea fixed him with some confusion. "Yeah…what, you don't remember?"

"Vaguely. It's fuzzy, but I remember hearing him. I think I might have spoken to him, but I had so little oxygen in my brain, it's difficult to tell. Please thank him for me; I'm sure that the gratitude will not be wasted on him."

"We are talking about the same Merle, aren't we?"

"I believe so, yes."

"He was really helpful last night," said Beth, appearing in the cellway with Judith happily nestled in her arms. "She conked out right on him for a good hour or so."

"That definitely doesn't sound like Merle."

"Well, maybe it was her," said Beth, kissing Judith's forehead fondly. "Babies change people."

"Some people are too far gone," said Andrea forebodingly, which shut down the subject instantly.

The women left Milton to rest his eyes again, though with the relief of sundown came the terror of nightmares and he wondered if he could change his inner clock to stay awake through the night and sleep during the day. He couldn't afford to keep losing his composure in front of the others who already thought him worthless on top of him being a spy for Phillip. If he could just prove himself by performing some heroic deed, perhaps they (namely Glenn, Maggie, and Rick) would accept him into the fold more willingly. Even with Andrea to vouch for him, he knew he would have trouble adjusting to life here, especially when these people were already so distrusting and hardened by what the world had become, unlike the people at Woodbury. When Phillip banded them together, Milton knew he had at least one ally and relied on Phillip to make things work for them as they slowly built their community from the ground up, but now he had to start over once again. Always starting over…

/

"Milton, wake up, wake up _now_!"

Reaching for his glasses, Milton propped himself up on his elbow as he brought Andrea's silhouette into view. She had her jacket on as well as a bag slung over her shoulder and two weapons strapped to her back.

"Grab your things; we need to leave now," she said urgently.

"What?" he asked, nonplussed. "Are we sneaking out?"

"Yes, from Phillip. Daryl spotted them hiding in the trees and Rick thinks they're going to move in tonight, so we're sneaking out the back way. Everyone else is nearly ready, so put your shoes on and meet me downstairs in two minutes."

Since he hadn't even unpacked his small bag, all Milton had to do was slip out of his pajamas and into the last pair of clothes he had worn, lace up his boots, and he was ready, but he paused, glancing at his cell with another ache in his heart. It was the second time in less than a week that he had to leave a place he thought for sure would be his home. Even this dingy little cell had been security, but now he was leaving that too.

The others were waiting on the main floor, gathered in the cantina with all of the weapons distributed between them—except for what they saved for Milton. He was given a pistol with two fully loaded clips, not including the one already inside the weapon, a knife, and what looked like a gas grenade. As Merle placed the items in his hands, there was dead seriousness to be seen in his face.

"Don't stab nobody in the back with these, or I'll gut you myself."

"If the Governor's got us as tightly pinned down as I think he does, we'll have to sneak out in smaller groups," said Rick, showing no sign that he was upset about having to flee the prison (and nowhere near as emotional as Milton felt). "We'll meet up again somewhere that we all know."

"Which is nowhere," said Merle unhelpfully.

"Our farm," said Hershel quietly. "It's probably still overrun, but most of us know the way there and it'll be a place to regroup."

"Unless you told Phillip where it is when you asked if you could go looking for Daryl," said Andrea somewhat accusingly to Merle.

"I didn't," Merle assured her sourly.

"Well, I think it's as good of a place as we're gonna get. Only two of us don't know how to get there, so pair up with someone who does. No more than four to a group. Carl, carry Judith. Daryl—"

"Uh-uh, my brother goes with me, man," said Merle. "I ain't lettin' 'im outta my sight after the shit that went down in Woodbury, y'can be damn sure've that."

"There's no time for arguin', said Hershel. "Rick, take Glenn and Maggie with you. Beth, you go with Michonne, and Andrea."

"Um…" said Milton hesitantly. Out in the dark, he had no guarantees of anyone watching his back except for Andrea, so splitting the two of them up was not favoring well with him.

"If Carol can take Milton—" Rick continued as if he had not heard Milton speak, but Daryl cut him short.

"Naw, Carol either goes with us or Michonne's group. Hershel can't run, so that means two've us have gotta carry 'im along and one more for security. Merle's the strongest one here, but I know the way to farm. I'll guard point and Mamet can help Merle."

There were several outbursts, but Hershel rapped his crutch on the table for silence. "Now is not the time, people. We've already wasted enough of it making final decisions. Daryl's plan makes sense. Rick, you go out first and Michonne's group will follow you. We'll go last. No arguin' the point."

"Uh," said Milton again, hoping to get a word in, but Andrea shook her head at him. Under cover of farewells from the Greene family, she sidled over to him and squeezed his hand without permission, but he found that he didn't mind.

"I'll see you soon. Do you have that paper bag with you? Keep it close at hand, but your weapon should be out and _off safety_."

"You his momma, Blondie? He'll be fine; he's with us," said Merle, but turning threateningly to Milton, he added, " 'F I get a bullet in my ass, you're the first one I'm comin' after, Einstein."

"Okay," said Rick decisively. "This is it. Good luck everyone."

He led his party out with Carl in the middle holding the baby who thankfully was quiet for the time being and Glenn at the rear. Michonne let Andrea lead her own crew since the latter knew guns better and Milton's stomach gave an uneasy ripple as he saw Andrea's pale blonde hair whip out of sight into the inner catacombs of the prison. Only when Hershel cleared his throat did he realize the rest were waiting for him.

Daryl took lead and Carol the back with Merle and Milton walking in front and behind Hershel until they reached the back door where they would have to shoulder their weapons and carry him. Milton absolutely loathed the darkness, but it was worse in here, where not even the stars could shine, where no light was permitted even during daylight hours. Daryl had a flashlight, but Milton had to keep his eyes on Hershel in case the older man tripped because in the confined spaces of the narrow hallways, it was difficult to judge just how close they all were to each other. More than once Milton heard what he thought sounded like someone or something tailing them and glanced over his shoulder, temporarily forgetting that Carol was behind him. He jumped and she had to nudge him along with a slight bit of force to get him moving again.

"We're comin' up on the exit now. No talkin' unless y'have to. No gunshots unless they fire first, and only then if you can see what you're shootin' at. Knives and bludgeonin', people. Merle, Mamet, take Hershel."

Hershel apologized and then hooked his left arm around Milton's neck, the right around Merle's. Milton was charged with carrying the crutch and Merle kept his appendage free for close combat. All three of them were breathing quite raggedly in the damp air as Daryl crept up to the hole in the wall that had previously shorn up with tree branches as a camouflage, but had been moved aside by one of the previous departing parties.

Things went wrong almost instantly. Daryl had to turn off his flashlight and so Milton and Merle couldn't quite see where they should step, resulting in Milton landing with his heel on a plastic bottle and crunching it underfoot. The sound was deafening in the silence and Daryl wheeled around to confront him when a biter moved in on the group, hidden up to this point in a bramble of overgrown bushes along the perimeter fence. Carol put it down with a quick knife jab, leaving their backs exposed and Milton heard another biter closing in behind them.

"Merle," he whispered frantically.

It was lucky that Hershel had heard him, because Merle didn't and he relayed the message to Merle, who put Hershel down to take care of the biter.

Then they heard gunshots from the woods beyond. Everyone froze; no one dared breathe as they waited for a shout, a call for help, something to let them know who had fired. One of the girls screamed and Hershel gave a moan of fear.

"Beth," he said.

The trees came alight with the flashing fire of heavy artillery and Merle, who had rejoined Milton and Hershel, dragged them out of the way, making a b-line for the opposite end of the woods. Milton's feet danced over the uneven terrain, but he knew that if he went down now, he would take the other two with him, and he would not be responsible for anyone's death. The gunfire had roused the roaming biters and everywhere he turned, he could hear them groaning, rasping, heaving in their guttural tones.

"Y'all go on ahead!" shouted Daryl as he doubled back and Merle swore as his little brother disappeared into the night. Only too late did he realize that Carol was no longer with them. Merle dragged his fellow multiple-legged racers another two hundred yards or so, and then pulled them into a cove, hidden from the east and concealed overhead so that anyone pursuing them wouldn't see it if they were to jump off of the hill above. Merle knelt near the opening with his automatic rifle in place, but Hershel and Milton sat as far back as the cove went, listening hard. Panting, Milton dug around in his belt for his paper bag, but Hershel stopped him apologetically. Milton understood: the crinkling from the bag would be a dead giveaway if anyone was tailing them.

Setting his head back and tilting his neck upward to allow free air passage down to his lungs, Milton tried to silently breathe in and out through his nose and mouth. On his fifth round, he heard three voices: two irate and one anxious.

"Do you want to go back and tell him that we lost them? Hell, I'm not aiming to get shot up because of your mistake!"

"Well, gee, it was awfully hard to see where they was runnin' off to when I had a damned arrow zippin' over my head, blockhead!"

"Will the pair of you please shut it? It's suicide, what the Governor wants us to do and I don't fancy getting lost chasing after a ragtag bunch. I'm going back."

Milton recognized all three voices and he knew Merle did too. The first was that of one of the volunteers, Jake Dobbs. The second was one of Phillip's men, Henry Pennyworth and the third was Hans Van der Stock who had been recruited against his will. All three were experienced fighters and dangerous.

"Yeah, go back with a fully loaded clip, Hans? Governor will eat you alive for not even firing off a shot," jabbed Henry.

"No man tells me to take another man's life," said Hans stoutly. "I know what those people have done, and I grieve for Haley and the others who were shot, but these prison people only came back for Merle and his brother because the Governor called for their blood. It's one thing to have staged fights in the arena; it's another to sentence two men to death as if it's law set in stone. We have to maintain some sort of hold on humanity and in my opinion the Governor has lost it."

"Your gabbing gob is gonna get you shot one've these days, you know that Hans?" said Jake. "Look, we got a job to do and if we don't deliver, it's on all've our heads."

"For God's sake, Jacob, they have _children_ with them! There's a baby and a young boy, and another girl who can barely be out of her teen years. For all we know, we could be trailing one of them right now and I will not go to my maker with the guilt of having shot down a child.

"Governor said we shoot to kill except for the kid and the baby, but that boy's old enough to hold a gun and I seen him firin' back at us. He won't hesitate if it comes t'killin' _you_," said Henry.

"And he has every right to, after what we've done to them."

"You self-righteous prick, I've heard enough."

Milton heard a grunt of pain and then he saw a body fall from overhead, landing on its side in front of the inlet. He crawled forward to where Merle knelt, holding his weapon on the man and a patch of moonlight broke through the foliage above to reveal Hans Van der Stock's face with a cut running across his cheek where apparently either Jake or Henry had struck him. Milton fumbled with his pistol, checked the safety, and turned it on Hans just as the latter glanced up. His eyes met Milton's and in that moment, Milton made the desperate attempt to ask for mercy. He shook his head pleadingly and by some miracle, Hans turned his gaze upward to where the other two stood.

"I'll remember that, Mr. Pennyworth."

"You threatenin' me, Hans?"

"After the punch you just packed, I don't think you're in any position to ask that question."

"Y'know, I can just as well shoot you right here'n now and make it look like an accident," said Henry with a snarl.

"You can try," said Hans.

Suddenly, there was a startled cry, a panicked gunshot, and then two figures fell at Hans' feet, one of them fighting and the other clawing. A biter had gotten hold of Jake and was attempting to sink its teeth into his arm. Henry jumped down to help and Hans backed off, crawling towards his fallen shotgun. With a snarl, Henry went for his own weapon and was about to fire it at the back of Hans's head when Milton came to his senses and put a bullet in Henry's butt. Howling in pain, Henry spun around to see Milton standing up. The would-be standoff was foiled as Merle capped off another round into Henry's skull, laying him flat. On the ground beside him Jake had lost his fight with the biter and the corpse was feasting on the rubbery flesh around his jugular.

Hans had reached his shotgun and Merle moved in for the kill, but Milton grabbed his arm, crying, "No, wait!"

"We don't take chances with them!" Merle snapped.

"He could have sold us out, but he didn't," Milton replied. "He's a good person, Merle, you can't just shoot him because he's from Woodbury! What if it had been Mrs. Peterson or Val who was out here? An old woman and a teenage girl, are you going to cut them down too just because they're carrying a gun like Phillip told them—_threatened them_ to?"

"He was one've the ones standin' out in the arena, callin' for _my_ blood and for Daryl's."

"He was standing right next to me and he never uttered a word," Milton defended. "He was out there because Phillip ordered everyone to be in attendance and once the shooting started, he grabbed two of the kids and ran out ahead of me. He's a _good person_."

"Yeah, well sometimes good people die," said Merle savagely.

Milton moved in front of Hans, turning his back on the latter to shield him and Merle laughed at him. "You fixin' t'get a knife in the back, Miltie?"

"Merle, put it down," said Hershel, hobbling out to them and dodging around the feasting biter. "I saw it as well as you did that this man protected us when he could have shot both of you in the mouth of that cave. I can't allow you to shoot him in cold blood. Take his weapon and leave him be."

Milton swore that Hershel had to have some sort of hidden calming power (and Milton didn't believe in such fantastical things) because Merle lowered his weapon and shoved Milton aside to take Hans's shotgun who willingly handed it over.

"Get lost and don't follow us," said Merle, and hooked Hershel's arm back around his neck. Milton gave Hans a nod and took Hershel's other arm. They had not gone five yards when they heard an unmistakable howl of rage from the direction in which they had just come from.

Daryl.


	7. Chapter 7: Moonlight

**MERLE**

Like a bell leaving its rhythmic _bong_ in the head for hours after its final toll, Merle heard Daryl's scream echoing long after it ended. He wasn't aware of anything or anyone around him, focusing only on getting to his brother—if it wasn't already too late. He had eyes and ears for no one but Daryl when suddenly his forward motion was halted as a hand closed around his wrist and held him in place. Whirling around, he expected Milton to be leaning back into the hold in an attempt to keep him from going to his brother's aid, but he did not expect Hershel to be the one whose hold was so firm and steady.

"Don't do it, Merle. You go crashing through the trees hollerin' Daryl's name, you'll get him and you killed."

"Let go've me, old man," Merle warned, though his voice sounded flat even to him, expressionless as if he was in a daze.

"Son—"

"Unless you wanna go scootin' 'round on your ass with no legs instead've one, getcher hand off've me right now."

"Merle, please, not in the dark," Milton pleaded, but Merle completely ignored him, giving Hershel one last chance before it came time to pistol whip someone. The old man's hand released him and Merle was off, crashing through the trees just as Hershel had said, and hollering for Daryl, not giving two shits about the ruckus he was making. He had never heard his little brother scream like that, not when he was a baby startled by a noise he didn't understand, not when he was a toddler who had fallen off of Merle's skateboard and sliced his entire knee open, not when they saw their uncle getting eaten by the dead. What could cause Daryl to make that sound now?

Flashlight beams danced around the trees ahead, joined by the rapid bouts of fire from heavy artillery. The din was enough to rouse every biter within a ten mile radius and they would surely close in on the fighters. Merle saw a stationary silhouette firing into the darkness and, with his heavy footfalls masked by the noise of battle, he rammed into him, training his automatic on him and putting two bullets in his jaw. Only later did he realize that he had no way of knowing if the man was one of the prison group or a Woodbury citizen.

"Daryl!" he hollered.

He heard someone stumbling towards him and raised his weapon to fire when he heard a woman's voice. "He's still out there…" Merle instinctively threw out his arm in time to catch the body that dropped into it. He heard Carol's ragged breathing, felt her chest heaving and pressed against his skin, he felt hot blood seeping out of a wound in her lower hip.

"Where is he?" Merle asked, lowering her to the ground.

"Out there," Carol repeated.

"That doesn't help me, woman!"

"Got shot…he went after them, mad as hell…still out there…"

Deciding that Carol would be no use to him whatsoever, Merle handed her the shotgun he had taken from Hans, and pressed forward into the thick of the battle, trying to interpret the sounds. He thought he might be veering right, though not long enough so that he had completely doubled back. Darting through a series of small explosive lights he had just gotten a sense of his bearings when something came out of the darkness and rammed into his face. He felt the bone in his nose quiver on the brink of snapping and in the sudden absence of gunfire he only could see echoes of light. His knees wobbled and he went down, throwing up his bladed arm to block the next attack.

"_Shit_," said a voice above him. "Merle, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was you—"

"Miltie…" said Merle, dazed as he groped for Milton's jacket. "Help me up…and then I'mma kill you, boy."

"It was an accident; I thought you were someone else."

Leaning into Milton with his nose throbbing and a headache of great magnitude descending upon him, Merle judged where Milton's nether regions were and kneed him hard in the groin. Milton yelped like a beaten dog and backed away from Merle, guarding his private parts.

"You deserved that," said Merle. "What're y'doin' up here anyhow? You're s'posed t'be with Hershel."

"So are you, but seeing as how you shit on any orders you're given, I didn't see why _I _should follow them either," Milton wheezed, nursing his groin with paced breathing. "I left him with weapons; he'll be fine."

"You fuckers, go to hell!"

Merle turned towards the sound of his brother's voice. He heard, but still could not see and so he raised his own voice to match Daryl's. The gunfire ceased temporarily and then Daryl's voice grew closer.

"Merle!"

Then another voice called out to him, one lingering on puberty with a break every now and then in the octave. It had to be the kid, though why he was calling to _Merle_ of all people made no sense. Why wasn't he with his overly protective asshole father? Why was he running _towards_ the gunfire?

"Carl!" Milton shouted and Merle elbowed him in the gut. His warning came too late, though, for he saw a flashlight bobbing towards them from about ten yards out.

"No, get outta here!" Merle yelled.

"Merle!"

"_Merle!_"

Clasping his hand over one ear and his appendage to his other, Merle swore, willing the voices and the gunfire to stop so he could just fucking _think_ for a second. Almost instantly, the battle soundtrack stopped, save for the sound of someone struggling off to Merle's left. Milton was switching his aim from side to side, panting heavily and looking as stressed as Merle felt. With an itchy trigger finger, it wouldn't surprise Merle if Milton accidentally shot one of their own in the dark and so he rested his appendage on top of Milton's gun and lowered it.

"That's thinkin' smart."

Merle swallowed the loudest, foulest curse that threatened to spill over from his lips as he saw the tall silhouette coming towards him. He could hear the boy squirming to slip out of the Governor's grip, but Carl was an adolescent with no muscle to speak of and no evasive skills. Of course, the Governor would have found it easy to snatch him up as he made a run for Merle all the while shouting his name and not paying attention to his surroundings.

_Stupid kid_.

"Where's the rest of 'em?" asked the Governor.

"Hell'f I know," said Merle, aware that he was standing in a patch of moonlight where his every facial expression could be read and the Governor stood in the shadows so that he could have a gun trained on Merle or a knife at Carl's throat.

"I see you've got a battle buddy."

"He wasn't my first choice, I'll tell ya that."

The Governor laughed. "I know you, Merle. I heard you shoutin' for your brother from the other side of the prison. You abandoned the rest of your group to go to him, which tells me that Rick thinks you're still his man."

"Let the boy go," said Milton, cutting in.

"Why? What's he to you? You don't owe these people anything and they don't care about you anymore than they care about me. You were too close to me, Milton, and they'll never forgive you for that."

"That's irrelevant now. Let go of that boy; he's not a part of this."

"I beg to differ, Milton. He's very much a part of this. His father is the man who started a panic in Woodbury. He's been learning at Rick's knee on how to kill innocent people—anyone who isn't _his people_. He had a gun on him and would have used it if I hadn't been quicker. A child soldier. A murderer."

"He's a _boy_," said Milton with emphasis.

The Governor moved one step forward and the moonlight bathed him in pale blue. He had an automatic pointed at Merle and Milton and an axe digging into Carl's shoulder so that a small trickle of blood ran down the boy's shirt. In the moonlight, the blood was inky black, yet startling coming from a kid.

"You'd kill him to hurt Rick, but he's the same age as Penny was," said Milton. "Phillip, please. Don't take out our sins on him. I-I'll go back with you and answer for what Rick's done, just let the boy go."

The Governor dropped Carl and pressed his head down into the dirt with the heel of his boot. "Stay still now, son, or you're gonna get yourself in trouble," he warned, but Carl, scared utterly shitless, made a mad scramble to get away and the Governor brought his axe down, severing all fingers but the thumb from Carl's left hand. The boy let out a scream of horror, cradling his maimed hand, and Merle suddenly felt himself spiral out of the night, out of the woods, to a scene atop a roof with his wrist handcuffed to a pipe.

He screamed and swore, kicked his legs and bit his lip to make it bleed as he sawed through skin, muscle, and bone marrow until his right hand fell free from his wrist. In shock, spilling blood, and severely dehydrated, he stumbled away, knowing that he had to cauterize his wound or risk bleeding out. The fear that seized him as he staggered down a stairway was greater than anything he had ever known up to that moment.

Then suddenly, he was standing in the open watching a boy bleed out and cry for his dead mother. He raised his gun and out of the corner of his eye saw Milton do the same as the Governor raised his axe to silence Carl. But on his other side, Merle saw a hand reaching for him and turned his aim to cap off a bullet in a biter's brain. The corpse fell forward onto him and Merle tripped, knocking Milton's gun aside just as he let off a round. The bullet meant to take out the Governor's other eye only grazed his ear, but it was enough to make him recoil.

"You bastard!"

Daryl appeared from Merle's right, firing at the Governor without any concern involving conserving ammunition. The Governor ducked and fled into the trees with Daryl hard on his heels. Merle had no intention of losing Daryl in the dark again and so with a command to Milton to look after Carl, he followed his brother. Just yards ahead of him he saw that Daryl was gaining and Merle put on a burst of speed just as the Governor swung back around with a large tree branch, knocking Daryl off of his feet. The Governor went in for the kill when he suddenly yelped like a beaten dog, nursing a hole in his thigh where Merle saw a bullet had gone through.

"Daryl, move!" shouted Carol.

Merle raised his rifle to his eye, put the Governor in his sights, but he never fired because at that moment, the dead turned the tides. Bathed in moonlight, Carol stood alone against the sea of biters that emerged from the woods. She was already weak from the bullet wound she had taken and she had no time to move as seven or eight hands grabbed her and pulled her down, as countless sets of teeth tore away the flesh on her arms, her legs, her neck. Then there came the sound of a bullet going off and Merle knew she had opted out.

The Governor ran perpendicular to the horde, using their temporary distraction as his means of escape. Merle sprinted for where Daryl had fallen and was now trying to get up despite the vicious knock to his head. His little brother was screaming for Carol, sobbing and clawing at the earth as he tried to pull himself forward on his knees. Merle seized Daryl by the back of his jacket and reeled him in. Daryl's crossbow was sandwiched between the two of them, but with his shotgun still in hand he opened fire on the biters. Those who could not get to Carol's remains were now limping towards the struggling brothers, drawn in by Daryl's screams.

"That's enough!" Merle shouted, wrestling with his brother. "Daryl, it's done!"

Driven half mad with grief, Daryl could not even hear him, and so, left with no other choice, Merle clubbed him over the head, set his brother fireman style across his shoulders, and ran, leaving the carnage of Daryl's savior behind.


	8. Chapter 8: Measured Tension

**Is there an explanation for my absence? No, not really.**

**MILTON**

Whatever ill thoughts Milton had had about getting stuck with Merle as his group mate at the start of the night, he displaced them all (at least for the time being) when dawn finally broke over the woods. The man knew how to build a low fire that cast little smoke, but still kept them warm as it reflected heat off of their cave walls. Everyone was now up to speed on the events of the night, but the air was still tense since two of their number were out cold, the larger group was unaccounted for, and an additional member sat under guard by the opening.

When Merle cut out to follow his brother's cries, Milton had stood rooted to the spot for all of twenty seconds before he realized that he might actually be able to help this time. Hershel had urged him to follow Merle, insisting that he would be fine on his own, but Milton was hesitant about leaving him alone with Hans, even if he had just vouched for the man moments before. After Phillip maimed Carl, Milton stayed behind with the boy until Merle returned, carrying Daryl across his shoulders. Milton was charged with carrying the boy back to where they had left Hershel and though he might have been shocked at what they found, it was nothing to the look of utter disbelief on Merle's face at the sight of Hans running about in circles keeping a ring of biters back from Hershel. Together he, Milton, and Merle put the biters down in short order and then retreated back into the cave to take refuge until they could get their bearings at dawn.

With some assistance from Merle, Hershel stopped the bleeding from Carl's hand and assured Merle that the bump on Daryl's head was just that and not the cause of a concussion. Milton poked at the fire restlessly, anticipating another attack at any moment as Hershel slept and Merle glared at Hans who he had deliberately placed in plain sight of the cave entrance so that if Phillip or biters came back, Hans would take the brunt of the attack. Since Hans had gone out of his way to defend Hershel, Merle couldn't very well toss him back out into the night and have to worry about the man leading Phillip back to them, so Milton suggested that he allow Hans to stay and prove himself by pointing out that they were outnumbered in terms of manpower with Daryl unconscious, Carl injured, and Hershel crippled.

Hans slept with his forehead resting against his knees which were pulled up to his chest in a position that looked damn right uncomfortable, but even at rest, Merle saw him as hostile and kept a fierce eye on him despite the bags under his eyes. Milton remembered that Merle had been on the last shift before leaving the prison which meant that he was running on no sleep and even less energy than the rest of them, but his overly protective instincts towards his brother fueled him.

Carl moaned in his sleep and Hans jerked awake, reaching towards the boy in what Milton understood to be a fatherly gesture. The kids in Woodbury responded to Hans's kindness with enthusiasm and so it was only natural that he should feel concerned for Carl as well. However, Merle jammed his blade into the ground dangerously close to Hans's groin as a warning, though whether it was because he didn't like Hans or because he was acting protectively towards Carl, Milton couldn't say. All the same, Hans sank back into his place and Merle fed more wood to the fire.

"He'll need water when he wakes up," said Hans, though Merle said nothing, breaking a twig under his shirt to muffle the snapping sound.

"We all could do with some water, especially if we're aiming to start out of this cave and be on our way to try meeting up with the others," Milton agreed. When Merle remained silent, Milton gave a deep sigh and crawled over to Carl to examine him.

"He's fine, sitcher ass back down and wait for the ol' man to wake up," said Merle.

"The brute speaks," said Hans and before Milton could even give a warning, Merle had tackled him, pressing the flat end of his blade across Hans's nose so that it was in danger of caving in.

"He does a lot more with little pricks who tried to kill 'im. Y'keep quiet unless I tell ya t'talk, and if I hear a sound outta you otherwise, I'mma string your tongue on a shoelace and wear it as a necklace, got it, y'German bastard?"

"Says the Neo-Nazi," muttered Milton. He hadn't anticipated that Merle would hear him, though, for the next moment, he found himself inches away from Merle's blade so that the tip tickled one of the panes to his glasses.

"Say it again, Mamet, and you won't be needin' glasses no more, got me?"

"You're thirsty too, Merle, so instead of threatening everyone for making the suggestion before you, why don't you go out looking for some?" said Hershel, sitting up wearily. "Take Milton with you."

"I can find water just fine on my own'n Miltie here's gonna alert ever biter in the vicinity that we're here, plus, I'm not leavin' Daryl guarded by just you with _him_ around." Merle pointed viciously at Hans.

Hershel actually let out a small chuckle. "I'm a cripple like you, Merle, and I'm still kicking with the one foot I've got. I can handle myself, but I can't say the same for Carl who's _gonna need water_."

"Fine, I'll go getcher water, damn it," Merle grumbled, dusting off his butt as he stood up. He nudged Hans aside with his knee, but before he could exit the cave, Milton was at his back, armed and eager to help out after last night's fiasco in nearly decapitating Merle in the dark.

"What'd I say, huh? You ain't comin', Miltie."

"So stop me," said Milton in a voice much fiercer and braver than he felt.

"What are ya, a teenage floozy whose daddy won't let her go out t'the strip mall? You're stayin' here."

"Suppose one of Phillip's men or a biter gets a hold of you while you're bent over looking at tracks, filling up on water, or taking a piss. What am I supposed to tell your brother then?"

Though a feeble argument, it seemed to do the trick, for Merle stomped off without another word and Milton trailed closely behind him, empty canteen bouncing against his leg with every step. They were hardly out of sight of the cave when Merle came to a dead halt and Milton ran straight into him, nearly knocking them both into a camouflaged pile of deer droppings. Milton staggered, but Merle caught him, then shoved his face dangerously close to the feces.

"Not twenty seconds into this trek'n y'already almost bulldozed me'n have that canteen makin' a racket'n y'wonder _why the fuck I didn't wantcher ass taggin' along_."

The hair on the back of Milton's neck rose and a heat burned in his face. "Merle, get your hands off of me."

"'F'you say so…"

Merle dropped him and Milton threw out his hands to catch himself just before his nose brushed against the droppings. As he stared at the pile and attempted to plug his nose against the stench, Merle continued lecturing above him.

"Keep at least five steps b'hind me or y'gonna knock me over ev'ry time I stop. And hold that stupid water bottle still. I swear, 'f I hear it bounce off've your leg one more time, I'm shovin' it cap'n all so far up your ass, I'll be able t'pour water down your throat and have it come out the other end. Now git up and do like I toldja."

Milton pushed himself up onto his knees, breathing heavily out of his nose. For some reason, today he was not able to sit idly by while Merle insulted and belittled him like he normally could and though the consequences of rebuttal were unwelcoming, remaining silent was even worse, and so he confronted Merle with his hands bawled into fists at his side.

"Merle, has anyone ever told you that you're a condescending, abusive, self-righteous prick?"

"Lotta people, never you, Miltie, but if you're tellin' me now, you might just be growin' a setta balls. Hold onto 'em 'til we find the damn water though, will ya?"

Merle set off, completely oblivious to the fact that Milton was not following.

"I don't appreciate being talked down to, Merle Dixon, and if you and I are going to be surviving together with Hershel, Carl, Daryl, and Hans to look after, we need to set a few ground rules," Milton called, which brought Merle to a dead halt.

"Ground—rules?" Merle repeated, and then marched back over to Milton, coming close enough that Milton could pick out every pore on his face. "Let's get somethin' fuckin' straight, y'four-eyed piece've dickless shit, I ain't your buddy and I ain't your partner. I'm in fuckin' charge've me and nobody else. I won't stick my neck out for nobody and if y'continue t'piss me off, I'll dump your ass and that German's and hope that the Governor's still somewhat merciful. Until we find the others, _if_ we find the others, you remember who the man with no morals is here."

"The man with no morals who went out of his way to save the son of the man he hates," said Milton, knowing he was pressing his luck and Merle's buttons, but he had to establish a reputation for himself, at least in Merle's eyes, or he would never be respected.

His respect came in the form of a punch square to the jaw from Merle in a wicked left hook. Milton nursed his chin as Merle started walking again. Grudgingly and now painfully, Milton followed, keeping a measured and calculated five steps behind the self-appointed leader. He held the canteen tightly against his body to prevent it from making a sound and stepped exactly where Merle did. They had been walking for at least half an hour when Milton suddenly halted, listening to the silence of the woods around them.

"Wait," he called to Merle.

Merle stopped ahead, turning around expectantly for Milton to explain.

"You hear that?" said Milton, now quietly. "Sounds like a biter eating something."

"Now, innet that a real fantastic find," said Merle sardonically. "Comin' across a biter eatin' somethin's a rare experience nowadays, huh, Miltie?"

"But—"

"Don't make me stop for stupid shit like that, man—"

Merle was cut off by a scream, the same scream that had started the chaos last night.

"That's Beth," he told Merle. "That way!" He didn't wait for Merle's approval as he set off at as brisk of a jog as he could manage with the uneven terrain but was outdistanced by Merle mere seconds later as Merle cut through the woods like only a trained tracker could. They both were so focused on locating the young woman that they didn't even stop to collect water as they splashed their way across a small trickling river. Now with his socks sopping wet, Milton found it even more difficult to maintain his balance as his feet slipped around in his shoes, but he kept pace with Merle, desperate to find Beth.

They nearly collided with her as she burst out of the hedge in front of them, arms closed tightly around a light blue bundle that was Judith. Beth's face was terribly scratched, as were her hands and neck and there were blood splatters on her caramel-colored jean jacket, but she looked to be in no apparent pain or danger.

Milton held out his hands to stop her from falling and to steady her.

"They-they got Andrea and Michonne," she gasped, half-sobbing.

"Biters?" asked Merle.

Beth shook her head, cradling the baby and looking every which way. Merle grabbed her face in his hand and made her look him in the eye. "You lookit me now and tell me straight what happened, girl, 'cause this ain't no time t'flip your shit. Who or what got Andrea and Michonne?"

"People," said Beth, terrified. "Not Woodbury. People wearing bloody aprons. They're coming."

Merle exchanged a look with Milton that clearly said, _What the actual fuck_, but he pulled both of them over to the nearest tree and then stuck out his knee. "You git up in that tree, girl, and keep that baby quiet. Miltie, hide out in that tree yonder, lowest branch is easy t'grab. Climb up a few and wait for my signal. If they're comin' this way, we'll get 'em."

Together, Milton and Merle hoisted Beth and Judith up into the branches where they were partially concealed. Merle pressed a finger to his lips and then held up his pistol questioningly. Beth nodded and gestured to her belt before retreating further up into the foliage. Milton hurried over to the tree Merle had pointed out and after a few unsuccessful tries which involved him nearly doing the splits involuntarily and landing on his rear end at least twice, he managed to pull himself up onto the lowest branch and continued his climb upward, surprised that in this cold morning weather with the effort of running and climbing, he wasn't gasping for air. He nestled himself in the third or fourth branch up and took out his pistol, waiting as he listened and watched for Merle's signal.

Only then did he realize that he did not only not know where Merle had gone, but he didn't even know what the signal was.

_Oh, shit_.


	9. Chapter 9: A New Threat

**ANDREA**

They kept walking, but only because Michonne had taken lead. Rick's group came under fire first, splitting out into the woods in random directions and despite Andrea's every attempt to keep Beth quiet, the girl had screamed when she saw Glenn and Maggie disappear in a haze of gunfire. They heard Daryl and Merle screaming bloody murder for a time, then Carl appeared, holding Judith and desperately searching for his father. Almost as if they had planned it, Carl handed his sister over to Beth, the only person he would willingly have given her to, and took off before Andrea could grab hold of him.

In the relative calm afterwards, Michonne insisted that they keep moving since the gunfire was sure to attract walkers for miles. Beth cradled Judith, hugging her tightly to her chest as they went and praying, like Andrea, that the baby would keep quiet. Following the moonlit patches that fell on Beth's golden hair, Andrea walked behind, drifting in and out of alertness as she thought of Milton and if he had made it out of the ambush. Despite having Judith, Rick's group was not the one at the biggest disadvantage. Even with a crying baby, you could still run, but Milton had been part of the two-man team to carry Hershel. Merle had one hand and was a time-bomb when it came to staying in line when his brother was threatened. Suppose Daryl had come under fire and Merle left Milton and Carol to defend Hershel? The manpower was almost nonexistent if such was the case because the Dixons were two of the three powerful men in their group and with Hershel hobbled, Carol small compared to the men Phillip had, and Milton relatively useless all around, their group was in some serious shit if Merle had let out.

She blamed these worrying thoughts on her current situation. Maybe it was just how bizarrely dressed these newcomers were that caught her off guard. Splattered in bloody white aprons and moving slowly through a small gaggle of walkers, she thought at first that they were walkers themselves. Michonne urged her to run for it, but Andrea's curiosity got the better of her and she paused to get a good look at their faces.

The eyes were alert, not foggy and vacant like the dead, and so she knew that whoever these people were, they were not friends. None of the living were friends now except for her own people. She turned to run when she heard a rifle go off and gasped aloud, falling onto Michonne as she felt something white-hot pass through her hip. Feeling strangely lopsided, she glanced down to see blood staining her shirt where a bullet had gone completely through her back and come out her front. Beth screamed, waking the baby who began to shriek in equal terror.

"Andrea!" Michonne shouted, grunting with the effort to hold her up and also reach for her katana as walkers staggered towards them, drawn by the sound of the baby and Beth.

"Beth…run," Andrea panted. "Take the baby—run now."

"I can't, you'll need help—"

"Go _now_, damn it!"

Beth took off with Judith clutched safely in her arms and Michonne managed to get Andrea onto her feet. With one hand pressed over the front end of her wound, Andrea aimed her shotgun and Michonne dispatched the nearest walker. Half-delirious, Andrea kept firing until her bullets ran dry and she needed to reload but by then the swarm had grown too strong to hold off for just two people and Michonne was tugging at her arm to make her move. Then, a flare flew above their heads, drawing the attention of the herd so that Andrea and Michonne were able to push through a clump of bushes and conceal themselves, only neither of them had accounted for the aproned man already in there. He pulled a pistol on them and made a shushing motion and despite being held at gunpoint, they knew to keep quiet with walkers nearby. As the herd blundered by, the man managed to convey his plans to them: he was going to carry Andrea and Michonne was to run in front of them, straight towards the man's friends.

Michonne gave him the middle finger and the man dug the tip of his pistol into her forehead. Andrea put out a drunken hand to lower the pistol and waved Michonne off. It was a miracle that she managed to even express that much given that she felt on the verge of passing out at any moment. The man took one pair of cuffs from his belt and clipped them across Andrea's wrists, then subdued Michonne who was giving Andrea her deluxe _are you shitting me_ expression.

They needed to get clear of the walkers first and since this man had not murdered them and even volunteered to carry Andrea out of the hot zone, it was evident that his intention wasn't to kill either of them, even if he or his buddies had shot her. Their best chance was to go along with whatever the hell this was until they had an opportunity to make a break for it—or at least for Michonne to since Andrea wasn't going anywhere in this condition.

"Focus…" Andrea told her friend, her syllables slurring together, and as the man reached down to sling her over his shoulder, everything around her went dark.

It could not have been much later, for the sun was still high above, but a storm of bullets brought her back to consciousness. The man carrying her had set her down against a tree and Michonne was searching about on the forest floor for some form of defense against three or four walkers that were closing in on them, attracted by the skirmish happening around them. Michonne shook Andrea, slapping her face with the back of her hand.

"Andrea, they've got Beth and the baby; I'm going to help, but I need to know that you can use your knife."

_No, I can't. I can't even keep my head up._

"Go…"

Andrea reached into her boot and grasped her knife in both of her hands, but even as she held it, she could see her fingers trembling uncontrollably. With more than one walker to take care of, she was in no position to defend herself, but Beth was alive and she had the baby. At this point it seemed like a small sacrifice, to give herself up to allow them to escape with Michonne's help, and if it meant putting an end to the pain, she would gladly do it. Her conscience was clear.

Michonne ran, and Andrea tried to sit up straight. The first walker was almost on her with a large chunk of its face having been torn off by another of its kind while it was still alive. Andrea tucked her knees in to her chest to make herself as small as possible but the walker collapsed at her feet mere centimeters from her and Andrea saw a bullet hole at the base of its scalp—a lucky shot that just barely took out its brain.

"Andrea!"

She wanted to believe that the voice she was hearing was real, but how could it be when in the madness of the night, all the others were almost assuredly dead?

The second walker grabbed Andrea's leg but then an arm wrapped around its chest and threw it backward. Merle Dixon stabbed it in the ear and took out the last one with a well-placed shot to the forehead before rounding on her with his arms held up in a harmless expression of _how you like me now?_

"We gotta stop meetin' like this, Blondie," he said as he knelt beside her, checking for bites. "What kinda shit y'gotcherself into now?"

"Michonne—"

"Awe, shit, that's a bitch," he said as he finally located her bullet wound.

"Mich—onne," Andrea repeated pressingly.

"She's fine, now git up, c'mon." Merle put his arm around her waist and she held onto his neck until he had pulled her to her feet. He had her lean against the tree and hold her knife once again as he studied her eyes.

"Can y'hold out for five minutes while I take care've the rest've these bastards?"

"That one with the black hair has the keys," said Andrea, pointing out her captor and Merle popped a bullet in the back of the man's head within milliseconds before running off to retrieve the keys. More gunshots followed on both sides and Andrea heard both Merle and Michonne shouting, heard the baby wailing. It was not, however, Merle who returned with the keys, but Milton.

"Oh," he said meekly when he saw the state of her. "God, Andrea, are you okay?"

"The cuffs first, Milton."

"Right, right…"

He fumbled a few times, but finally managed to jam the key into the cuffs and get Andrea free. After examining her side, he turned a nasty shade of green, but wrapped her arm around his shoulders. There was no hesitation in his actions this time and he did not seem to mind the physical touch nearly as much as he minded the smell and sight of fresh blood. Michonne joined them, taking Andrea's other arm so that she could still use her katana.

Around them, walkers were closing in, but there seemed to be no more apron-wearing individuals.

"Where's Merle?" asked Milton, but Michonne shrugged.

"And Beth?" asked Andrea.

"By the time I cleared a path, she'd already taken off. I never saw Merle. He mighta gone to draw off those people, which means that the three of us need to get moving now. Which way?"

Michonne was appealing to Milton who gulped visibly, checked the sun overhead, glanced at Andrea, and then set off in a seemingly random direction. Andrea didn't know if Milton knew where he was leading them or if he was just putting on a façade, but she knew why.

"Just hang on," Milton told her, "please…hold on."


	10. Chapter 10: Backtracking

**MILTON**

"You're lost, aren't you?" said Michonne, and she didn't trouble to keep the accusatory tone out of her voice.

"I thought that I would have Merle with me on the way back," Milton admitted.

"That sort of thinking is gonna get you killed," said Michonne. "You always have to be prepared when you leave your campsite because there's never the assurance that you'll be walking back with the same people, especially where Merle's concerned. You can't even remember a single thing about where this cave is?"

"It was that way," said Milton, pointing forward, away from the sun.

"_That way_? What direction is that, genius?"

"Michonne…" said Andrea weakly and Milton stopped to take in her appearance. After only twenty minutes of staggering through the woods, the color in her face had significantly lessened and she looked like she might be sick all over the ground at any moment. Milton pressed his knuckles to her sweaty forehead, but her skin was cold.

"She needs water," said Michonne in concern.

Struck by a sudden idea, Milton knelt down, squinting at the ground to locate his and Merle's footprints where they had come out of the river. Their tracks were certain to be deeper and darker, and would lead Milton straight back to the river, which would then hopefully point him in the direction of the cave. He crawled on all fours, searching and searching until finally he spotted his own prints in the mud side by side with Merle's larger ones. Pointing this out excitedly to the women, he led them straight back to the river and was feeling rather proud of himself when Andrea vomited.

"Shit," said Milton, running back to her and helping Michonne lower her down. Michonne ripped off a pocket on her coat and Milton dipped it in the river, trickling the water onto Andrea's neck and mopping away the vomit around her lips. Only when he dabbed the last of it away did he realize that some of it was blood. Her entire side was doused in blood from the wound and her eyes were rolling around aimlessly.

"Stay alert, Andrea," said Milton loudly. "You need to stay awake until I get you back to Hershel."

"Oh, shut up," said Michonne. "With you leading us, we'll never find Hershel and Andrea will die as we wander around in these woods trying to outrun humans and walkers alike."

"I'll get her back to Hershel," said Milton again, this time with force which he directed at Michonne. "Merle and I only walked about half an hour away from the cave and it was always in one direction because the sun was always on our right shoulders. If you help me look for tracks, I can get us back. You might not be able to pick out Merle's because he only walks heavily when he's in hurry, but mine should stand out clearly. Look for broken twigs, disturbed mud, anything. I'm a klutz."

"Okay, okay, shut up already."

"Let's fill the bottle and then get moving," Milton suggested.

With three canteens full of water that needed to be boiled before drinking, they set out, slowly, but surely as they followed a boot print here or there. Sometimes they had to double back, other times they went at least a few dozen yards without finding one, but Milton had never been so happy with his clumsiness as now when his heavy footfalls were giving them a trail to lead them back. Michonne tried to keep Andrea awake by talking to her, asking her details about their time together on the run, but Andrea's responses were growing fainter and fainter each time until Milton called off the interrogation session to let Andrea conserve any energy she might have left. He brought them to a hill which he remembered from the first ten minutes or so of his and Merle's trek and with his heart pumping madly, thinking that he might actually be able to salvage the setback of having to leave the others behind, he scaled the hill first to get a vantage point.

Only, there was someone waiting for him at the top.

"You've been busy today, haven't you, Milton?"

Phillip stood at the crest, his remaining weapon at rest in his hand. A small piece of his ear was missing and he had tied a tourniquet around his thigh where the bullet from the previous night had gone through. He looked dead-beaten, drained, hungry, and slightly mad, but at the same time, he was smiling. Milton immediately thought of Hershel and the others not far from the hill and if Phillip had found them before coming out to wait for Milton and Merle to return. On the pretense of asking Phillip what he had done to the others, Milton swallowed his question and instead raised his handgun. The fact that Phillip didn't react unnerved him.

"Now, we both know you aren't gonna shoot me, Milton. In the heat of battle last night with Merle at your side, you mighta felt indestructible, but the fact remains that you are still soft-hearted to a fault and you don't got it in you to kill nobody."

"That was before you took off most of that boy's hand," said Milton.

"I warned him not to move. He didn't listen. You've seen what happens to people who don't listen, Milton. Merle didn't listen and he got cast out. Andrea didn't listen and she's not lookin' too good at the moment. Michonne didn't listen and now she's gonna pay for it. As for you; I'll let you slide this one time. Take Andrea if you want and get movin', but leave me Michonne. You owe me that after all I've done for you."

Michonne probably had sense enough to keep her mouth shut at this moment, which was why Milton hadn't heard anything from her, but he still wanted to know that she was behind him, that she had his back.

"Michonne, start taking Andrea around," he called over his shoulder.

"No, she stays right there where I can see her. She's mine, Milton, and if you value Andrea's life, you'll let me have her." Phillip moved a step closer and Milton put his gun up even higher, causing Phillip to laugh. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Milton, just step outta the way."

"Not this time, Phillip," said Milton, trembling where he stood with both hands clasped over his handgun. He knew Phillip would try to avoid shooting him if possible because of the friendship they once shared, but the Governor was not above putting a bullet through Milton's head to achieve his ends. Andrea made a muffled moan of pain behind him and for the first time, he felt strangely selfish in his predicament. Michonne meant close to nothing to him at this moment on account of neither he nor her speaking to each other—in fact, besides the earlier argument over Milton's lack of knowledge about cardinal directions, Michonne had never spoken _to_ him. Andrea was in need of Hershel's help just now and if he let Phillip have Michonne, he could get Andrea that help all the quicker—but she would never forgive him if he stepped aside and allowed Phillip to torture and kill her friend. He, Milton, could not be selfish just now, no matter the cost.

He had to act first this time. The only reason Phillip had not fired yet was because he was waiting for Milton to give him a sign of surrender. Phillip expected Milton to back away like a kicked dog with what remained of his dignity because Phillip knew the exact reason that Milton left Woodbury. What he would not be expecting was for Milton to be on the offense. Milton was not a religious man by any means, but if there was a higher being, he prayed that just an inkling of luck would be with him as he took up a shooter's stance and fired two bullets at Phillip.

The first missed, but the second went right through the center of Phillip's hand, causing him to drop his weapon and shout, instinctively grabbing his wounded limb. Milton ran forward and rammed into Phillip, knocking him down with strength he didn't know he had. Phillip hit the sloped ground hard and began to roll uncontrollably down the hill. Milton snatched up Phillip's fallen rifle and then hurried back to the women, offering his shoulders as a support for Andrea.

"Okay, we're walking…"

"You should have finished him off," said Michonne distastefully.

"You may find it easy to kill people, but I'm not at that point yet, so you'll forgive me if I did what I needed to," said Milton, wishing his hands were free so that he could take out his paper bag and just take a breather, but Andrea was looking completely drained and whitewashed in her face, so he concentrated on leveling his breathing by returning to his counting method.

"Now where are we going?" asked Michonne.

"Same place, just a slight detour since there's the issue of having a governor between us and our destination."

"Andrea doesn't have time for _detours_," Michonne snapped.

"I am doing the best I can here for both of you, so please, will you just shut up?"

Michonne looked like Milton had just smacked her across the face but Andrea let out a weak chuckle that broke the tension. Taking that as a sign that she was going to hold out for a little bit longer, Milton quickened his pace, practically dragging the other two with him until at last, he saw the cave sticking out like a beacon in the late afternoon sun and standing right out front was Hans, weaponless apart from a wooden stave.

"Oh, no…"

"What now?" asked Michonne. "Who's he?"

"Wait here," Milton instructed. "If something happens—"

"Keep going until Andrea keels over and dies?"

"Don't be dramatic," said Milton, approaching Hans with his pistol out again, only this time he was not afraid to use it. Hans waved to him, but the happiness on his face was not an expression that looked genuine—though Milton couldn't be sure since he didn't read people very well anyway.

"Where's Merle?" asked Hans.

"No, you tell me where the others are first."

"Daryl wanted to go out looking for a better shelter, but was understandably reluctant to leave the boy and Hershel behind with me, since he'd never seen me," Hans explained. "He woke up in a fit of rage, demanding that someone tell him where his brother had gone, and once Hershel calmed him down, he spent a good hour trying to deal with his headache. In the end, Hershel scratched out a note and left it buried in the leaves inside the cave and we all set out in search of water first and foremost since you and Merle hadn't returned. But we did find a shelter; it's just a one-room cabin that had already been looted, but we set up there and Daryl sent me back here to bring you to it since I'm the only other one besides him in fit condition."

_He's lying_.

By default, Milton didn't trust anyone besides Andrea, but he had vouched for Hans last night, saved him, made sure that he wasn't thrown to the wolves, and he had once considered the man to be his friend. Surely, even if something had happened to the others, Hans wouldn't harm him?

"I know you don't have any reason to trust me, so you can come and search me for weapons if you need to. Do whatever it takes, but I promise you that I will lead you straight back to them. And by the looks of it, she could use some medical attention." Hans motioned at Andrea.

"Hands on your head."

Milton treaded carefully, stepping as close to Hans as he dared while still keeping a reasonable distance away until he was close enough to pat him down for concealed weapons. Upon finding none, he instructed Hans to lead the way and warned him that if he was playing them false, Milton would personally shoot him through the back of the head. He needn't have worried, though, for not twenty minutes later Milton saw a cabin standing at the top of a slope and on the porch were Hershel and Daryl.

"She's been shot," Michonne called and Hershel bade her take Andrea inside so that he could start operating immediately. Michonne took off her katana and passed it on to Milton to hold so she could go first through the narrow doorway with Andrea but before Michonne had even completely gotten through the entrance, Daryl put out his arm to separate Milton from the women. Milton stepped back, ushering Michonne inside so that Andrea could be tended to as Daryl confronted him, making him step down off of the porch.

Milton suspected what this was about, but he had hoped that Merle would be here, so he was in no way prepared for telling Daryl the truth.

"Where's my brother?" Daryl demanded.

"I don't know, he drew them off and we didn't wait to see—"

"You mean my brother got left behind _again?_" Daryl thundered.

"Now, son, think about what you're doin' before you do it," said Hershel warningly, but Daryl was having none of it and he stepped into Milton's danger zone, almost pressing his nose against Milton's as he breathed hot air like a winded bull.

"If he doesn't come back, it's gonna be on your head, Sunshine."

"Merle knew what he was doing when he led the biters away and the goal was to rescue the women anyway, so please back out of my face; it's making me nervous," said Milton in a small voice.

"I make you nervous or you're just nervous about lying to _my_ face?"

"Daryl…"

"As I've already told you, Merle led the biters away—"

"Bullshit he did. That ain't like him, not yet. He wouldn't've risked his life for any of y'all if it meant he'd get left b'hind. If there ain't no one to punish 'im for actin' otherwise, Merle don't look out for no one but 'imself."

"I'm telling you what happened, but if you continue to doubt me, that's your choice. I am going to ask you one last time to step back from me."

"Swing, pretty boy."

Milton shoved Daryl in the chest, more to just get him a safe two feet away than to start a fight, but he should have known that his actions would cause Daryl to fly into a frenzy. Daryl punched Milton in the chest and Milton staggered back into Hershel who had come to break up the fight and who had to be made of strong material if he was able to stand on crutches and still push Milton back upright.

Wheezing, Milton shook his head hopelessly and said, "Okay, you don't want to listen to me, fine, you dumb prick."

"The fuck didjoo just call me?"

"Let me put this as delicately as I can—fuck you."

Daryl moved in, but Milton still had Michonne's sheathed katana in his hands. Milton smacked Daryl across the face with it and then, because he had seen—or rather felt—Merle do it, he wrapped his arms around Daryl's neck and held on.

"Milton, don't!"

The blood was pounding in his ears. His extremities were shaking and sweat was pouring from his body with the exertion of defending himself, but his life was in jeopardy unless he stood up for himself. This man whose neck he held intended to hurt him and Milton could not allow that to happen, not when he had the power to do something about it. He was only faintly aware of hands tugging at his arms to make him release, but none of them understood: he was defending himself.

"Let him go, Milton!"

Then, someone pressed against his nose with the flat of their hand so hard that he felt it might break. That person posed a bigger threat than the man who he was choking and so Milton let go of the first man to confront the second when those same hands that had just been hurting him now grabbed his chest and placed an arm across his throat, though not to the point of blocking off his air passage.

"Easy, son, easy. Calm down," said a gentle voice.

"You…son'va…_bitch_…"

"Daryl, please, he's a danger to himself. It's not his fault that he's like this and you knew better than to antagonize him. How'd you expect him to react to you threatenin' him and hittin' him?"

"That bastard left my brother."

"Your brother made Milton and the women run because Merle works better alone without inexperienced people like Milton in the way."

Milton saw Daryl glaring at him and swiped at him, but those firm hands pulled him right back and the calming voice spoke in his ear, just for him to hear. "You're safe, Milton. No one's gonna hurt you now. Keep calm and count to ten. Breathe. Breathe and know that everythin's alright."

Milton tried to push the hands off of him, but at the same time, he wanted to hold on and catch his breath in the comforting knowledge that someone was there to steady him. He grappled for the bag in his belt and the man helped him free it, flapping it open and bunching up the top before pressing it to Milton's mouth so that he could swallow the air inside.

"That's it, son, nice'n slow."

"You gotta be shittin' me, man," said Daryl. "He's dangerous! He's a tickin' time bomb'n that's the second time he tried t'kill me."

"Your brother's a tickin' time bomb too, but you don't see people tryin' t'kill _him_," said the voice of the man who held Milton and slowly, ever so slowly, it registered within his suffocating brain that it was Hershel.

"That's 'cause Merle knows how t'protect himself."

"Exactly, and Milton doesn't. He's not strong and he's not a fighter by any means, but he'n your brother are more in common than you think, Daryl. You need to give him a chance if you expect the rest of us to do the same for your brother. Now I have to operate on Andrea and I've already spent a great deal of energy tendin' to your head and Carl's hand. Now Milton may need some medical attention, so I'm askin' you to keep a level head, bring Milton inside, and help me while we wait for your brother to find us, which he will."

Daryl strode forward and when Milton saw him coming, he panicked, but Hershel put a gentle, soothing hand on Milton's head and whispered to him, "He's not gonna hurt you again, Milton. He's here to help. Stay calm. We're gonna lift you up now."

Whether or not they actually did, Milton didn't know, for at the touch of Hershel's hand, his exhaustion overwhelmed his body and he finally gave in.


	11. Chapter 11: Weigh Heavily

**Holler, people, let me know if you're still out there.**

**MERLE**

By raising a din, Merle managed to get half of the small herd to follow him, though that wasn't his intention from the start. He had been trying to cause enough of a ruckus for Beth to climb down and ended up getting a cult following instead, so he had no choice but to make a run for it, though he managed to double back in less than ten minutes, only to find the place crawling with biters, much more than had come the first time. Cursing his bad luck, he was about to turn tail and take the long way around back to the cave, wondering if Milton and the ladies had made it, when he saw the girl pushing her way through the crowd. She still had the bundle in her arms, but she was hobbling badly and crying tears of pain as she stumbled.

Merle stepped out to make himself seen to her and she nearly collapsed in his arms. She held out the baby to him, gasping for breath. "Take the baby. You can carry her easier than you can carry me, now run, I'll hold them off!"

"Don't be stupid, girl," said Merle. "_You _take the baby—"

"My knee's busted, you idiot, I can't run no more!" Beth held out Judith again to Merle, tears clinging to her dirty cheeks as she stood leaning on one foot with the other bent at an odd angle. "Please, Merle…"

Merle saw biters converging, forming an impenetrable wall that not even the most skilled biter killer could fight through, groaned, and handed over his pistol with a spare clip to Beth as he strung his automatic over his shoulder. "Y'take that, it's got eight bullets left in that clip and thirteen in this one. Keep walkin' due west for half'n hour and you'll find a cave. Stay there'n somebody'll come back for you if they've already moved on."

"You'd do that for me?"

"I want my pistol back," said Merle, then motioned to the baby. "Give 'er t'me."

Beth handed Merle her pack full of baby formula, placed Judith against Merle's chest and planted a swift kiss on the baby's soft blonde head before turning back to face the biters. Merle held the baby as tightly as he dared in his left arm, leading with his right to swipe branches out of his face as he ran north, determined not to give any pursuers a clean-cut trail back to his base camp. He knew that Milton couldn't lead the women back there, but he hoped that Andrea or Michonne had enough sense to look for footprints, snapped twigs, and any other signs of Milton's careless walking so that they had something to follow. He thought of Daryl, awakening to the company of two cripples and a backstabber, parched, sore, miserable, and angry.

Suddenly the logical thing seemed to be to dump the baby and make a b-line back for the cave. Daryl needed him and needed water, neither of which Merle could provide while he was leading possible pursuers on a wild goose chase with a whimpering baby in his hand. A ripe stench hit his nose and he slowed down to hold the girl outward, fearing what he was about to find. Leaning forward experimentally, he caught a whiff of the smell again and swore; the kid had a loaded diaper and the scent would be sure to attract not only biters and humans, but other predators as well.

Judith gave another whimper of discomfort.

"Awe, now cut that shit out, ain't nothin' I can do 'bout it," Merle told her.

Now would be the ideal time to simply put her down and keep going, fabricating some sort of lie on how he had run into biters, fallen, and dropped her in the process, but even as he planned it, he knew that everyone would see right through him. They knew self-centered, two-faced, lying Merle Dixon would have tossed the baby to save his own skin and there would be no welcoming back after that, so he did the natural thing: he cut off a section of his shirt to use as a replacement diaper and tossed the old one before continuing on.

Judith would be needing nourishment soon just like him for neither of them had seen food or water since escaping the prison. She fidgeted in his arms, gave a burp, and made baby-sick down the front of his pants.

"Son've a bitch."

He knew better than to swear in the presence of children, but since those rules only applied where there was civilization, he ditched them and turned the baby around to face him. "Now look here, that shit's gonna stop right here, right now. I ain't carryin' you 'round nowhere if you're gonna bitch'n moan at me'n puke'n shit every two minutes. I'll find you some damn water'n peaches or whatever the hell it is you eat if you just keep a lid on it, got me?"

_If Daryl could see you now…_

Merle almost laughed. What the hell was he doing talking to an infant like it was an adult capable of understanding his speech? This kid was just nine pounds of vomit, poop, farts, and whines.

Nine pounds was nothing, but it still left him unable to use his automatic if he needed to. He needed to free up his hand. Picking about for something useful, he eventually found the remains of a campsite that had a picked-clean corpse lying half-way out of the tent. Setting the baby down at his feet, he ripped into the canvas, tearing out a sizeable chunk and securing a doubled up strap on both ends. All the while, the baby remained quiet, kicking her legs and chewing on her stubby little fingers. Finally, Merle held up a makeshift sling with two leg holes that he could slip the baby into and strap her to his stomach or back, depending on which was more convenient. He put her inside and tested her weight and when it held, allowed himself a moment of accomplishment that was short-lived as he heard the dead coming.

This time, however, it was not just a small herd, but what sounded like a football stadium full of biters. He would never be able to outrun them on his dwindling energy and even if he could, the babies cries would attract the horde as soon as she needed to take a shit or got hungry. He needed an escape route, and fast. Seeing a lawn chair inside of the tent, he grabbed it, rushed over to the sturdiest tree he could find, and set it at the base. It threatened to give way under him, but it held as he stood on top of it, set the baby against his back, and pulled himself up onto the lowest branch. He dared to go higher, hoping that the remaining foliage would conceal him from any biters that happened to look up and no sooner had he settled onto the third and final branch that would hold his weight that the dead began to trickle by, their moans reaching him like a badly-tuned radio station.

And they just kept coming. They were not fast-moving, which was why it seemed to take forever, but the sun had already set by the time there was the smallest change in the volume of the herd. Thinking that he was going to end up spending the night up here, Merle tried to make himself as comfortable as possible in such a way that would ensure that he wouldn't fall out of the tree in case he dozed off.

The baby gave a small, warning whimper and Merle rummaged around in the pack Beth had given him to look through what he had to work with. There was plenty of formula and bottles, but only a small amount of water to go along with it; the women must have been feeding her earlier that day and put the bottle away in haste.

He licked his cracked lips, wishing that he had stopped to fill up his canteen at the stream he and Milton had waded through. He needed water—even formula-filled water—more than the baby because he was the one doing all the heavy lifting. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he caught a whiff of the formula and nearly gagged; he'd never been able to stomach the smell of that shit, especially when he had to feed Daryl as a baby.

Judith's tiny fingers rubbed against his arm, almost as if she was pleading for a drink. Merle pinched his nose, took a small gulp, and then stuffed the rubber tip into the baby's mouth to make her drink if only to keep her quiet. If he had waited another second, he knew he would have downed the whole thing. When Judith had finished, she buried her face against his chest and Merle rolled his eyes.

_The fuck, man. The hell're y'doin' up in a damn tree bottle-feedin' a baby? 'F you'd been on your own, you'd be back with the others by now, not babysittin' a kid that ain't kin._

But he needed this baby to be accepted back. Even if she died of thirst or hunger or a severe diaper rash along the way, he had to bring a body back, otherwise they all would think he tossed her aside to save himself.

"You'd better be worth it, kid," he said quietly.

The straggling biters finally disappeared a half hour after dawn and Merle climbed down precariously, listening for anything that might signify the herd returning, but all seemed clear and so he set out southwest, thinking that he might be able to make it back to the camp by midday if he was lucky and if he had judged correctly. There was no use following his tracks back to where he had left Beth; the biters had ruined his trail. His only hope was to rely on his tracking skills. He prided himself in being able to differentiate between different footprints, in identifying animal sounds—and for knowing when someone was sneaking up on him.

He whirled around, training his automatic on the bushes behind him. "Come outta there or you're gonna get a mouthful've bullets."

A shotgun preceded its owner, held aloft to signify that no harm was meant, but then Merle saw that the gun belonged to one of his least favorite people and he again cursed his rotten luck.

"It _had_ t'be you."

Glenn looked from Merle to the baby and back, trying to piece the situation together, but Merle waved it off.

"It don't make sense t'me neither, so don't think 'bout it. Where's the rest've your trio?"

"We got separated in the night," said Glenn, coming closer, but not looking any less concerned. "We killed a few of the Governor's men, including Martinez. How'd you end up with the baby?"

"Hell'f I know. But I know where a good portion've the group are'n that's where I'm headed."

"Have you seen Maggie?"

"Naw, your honey bunch ain't passed my eyesight since the prison."

"Give her to me," said Glenn, holding out his arms for the baby.

"Uh-uh, I know you're downright pissed at me'n if I hand her over, I ain't got nothin' stoppin' you from tryin'a cap off a bullet in my head."

"You'd use a _baby_ as a shield?" said Glenn in disgust.

"Hey, you're lucky I carried 'er this far when I couldda dumped 'er at the first sign've trouble. But I've still got 'er, which should tell you that I done alright by Officer Rick. 'F I hand 'er over, you're gonna gimme your gun."

"Go to hell, Merle."

"I don't trust you, kid, and you don't trust me neither, so it ain't a good idea for us t'be travelin' t'gether."

Just when Merle was thinking that it would come down to a long-awaited standoff that ended in one or both of them dead, Glenn surrendered his weapon by dropping it off to the side and holding out his arms for the baby.

"Give her to me."

"Gladly," said Merle, taking off the makeshift baby sling he had made. Judith looked upset in being handed over and whimpered when Glenn took her but Merle pointed his finger at her as if to say _don't you dare_ and she went silent.

"How _did _you end up with the baby?" asked Glenn again as he watched Judith's interaction with Merle.

Merle shrugged, scooping up Glenn's shotgun. "I keep wonderin' that myself. It was me'n Miltie lookin' for water when we heard your girlfriend's sister scream. She had the kid and was a short ways ahead of a group've people who'd taken Andrea and Michonne prisoner. Miltie'n I shot at 'em and in the chaos, Beth handed me the baby and took off runnin' another way t'lead the biters away. That was yesterday, 'round this time."

"And you haven't found your way back to your camp by now?"

"Well, shit, Delivery Boy, I got a herd on my tail too and had t'climb up into a damn tree t'wait 'em out. Only just got down 'bout ten minutes ago. I'm makin' my way back now, so fall in if y'wanna."

They walked in silence apart from Glenn occasionally shushing Judith and Merle had to admit that even though Glenn wasn't very good company, he could keep a hell of a lot quieter than Milton and that was with a baby in his arms. Merle was just beginning to feel confident that he would be stumbling upon the cave within moments when the trees parted and they came to a giant drop off that had a sloped drop about fifty feet down.

_Well, that sure's hell wasn't on the way back t'camp._

"Best thing to do is go down and across," said Glenn, sounding resigned to bad luck. "It'll take too long to go around."

"We made a wrong turn-off somewhere. We need t'hike back for a few miles 'cause this here gorge ain't anywhere near where the group was."

"Maybe it is and you just passed by the long way without ever knowing it was there," Glenn suggested.

"Naw, I'm tellin' you, man, we're far outta the path this time. Let's go back."

"We don't have _time_, Merle. We don't know what condition the group is in or if they're even still there and we have a baby who's starving. We don't know what to expect and we can't backtrack just because of your mistake. That's what got us all here in the first place, out in the woods searching blindly for each other because you brought a murdering rapist son of a bitch down on us."

If not for the fact that Glenn had the baby hanging by his chest, Merle would have beaten his ass into the ground, but since the infant was Glenn's guardian angel, Merle resorted to a verbal assault.

"Y'actually got some balls, boy, but you're still stubborn and y'hold a grudge. I did what I did and nothin's gonna change that, butchoo gotta let it go, or there ain't never gonna be a settlement 'tween us. I ain't tryin' t'get none've y'all killed. Hell, I even saved the ol' man. Couldda dumped 'is ass'n kept on walkin', but I didn't. I ain't got nothin' t'prove t'none've y'all, but I ain't lookin' t'screw up what I got goin' for me. That's why I got the baby. I ain't as heatless as y'think."

"No, you're just a major fuck up in every other sense of the word."

Merle grabbed the front of the baby's sling and moved her around to Glenn's hip so that he could step in closer and get up in the boy's face. "Now you listen here, y'lil' shit. I had everybody before tell me what a failure I was, but they's all dead now'n I'm still kickin'. I don't need a kid who's still wet behind 'is ears t'tell me now that the world's gone t'shit. I'll getchoo back t'your people'n your sweetheart, then y'leave me the fuck alone. Don'tchoo go pointin' fingers'n makin' assumptions on shit y'don't have a fuckin' clue 'bout. So y'lost a few friends along the way'n got a few bruised ribs'n had your lady felt up by some psychopath. None've that even comes close t'the shit I been through. Y'all had it easy compared to me, but you're the ones who're bitchin' 'bout how God's got it out for ya. Well, lookee here, I got Officer Rick's baby, I saved 'is boy two nights ago, I rescued Andrea from dyin' in the woods, an' I'm takin' your precious ass back t'your people, which means I've gotten the hell over it all. But you—you can't get past havin' another man see your woman half naked. Grow the fuck up already."

"Back off," said Glenn threateningly.

"Come at me, kid,"

Judith began to cry and shooting Merle a dirty look as if it was his fault that she had become upset, Glenn lifted her to sit against his hip, baby-talking her to keep her calm when suddenly her squeals of distress were drowned out by the moans of the dead. Biters formed a mass in the trees behind them, leaving them no choice but to take their chances with the slope and hope that the formidable journey would pay off.

"Get movin', twinkle toes," said Merle, shooing Glenn towards the edge with his machine gun set on the nearest biters, just in case. Glenn tucked one leg back so that he was sitting on his ankle and extended the other outward, pushing himself downward at a steady pace with his heels creating friction and kicking up a hell of a lot of dirt as he went. On his back, Judith was watching Merle and once Glenn had gotten about halfway down, Merle followed, slipping and sliding around without any grace at all as he struggled to keep his balance with his one hand. He heard biters coming over the edge, dropping like bowling pins and tumbling down the slope behind him. One biter even gained enough momentum to go rolling past him, but Glenn dispatched it since he had regained his feet and armed himself. Near the bottom, Merle's boots refused to support his position any longer and threw him forward with a double "fuck you", sending him sprawling into the mud. Spitting out muck, he joined Glenn at the opposite end of the ravine where a drop-off about ten feet above them would prevent any biters from following. The problem there was that the biters that had followed them into the gully were getting up now and closing in fast enough that Merle and Glenn could not attempt to climb out at the same time without having the biters pull them straight back down.

"Merle, take the baby," said Glenn blankly.

"Hey, fuck you, man, _you_ take the baby, I ain't doin' that shit again—"

Glenn popped him in the mouth and Merle stumbled back into the gorge wall. Next moment, Glenn had shoved the baby into his arms and put his pistol to Merle's forehead.

"I've got every reason to kill you right here and now after what you did to me and Maggie and if the baby wasn't here, I would, but I won't see her torn to shreds. You wouldn't sacrifice yourself for us, so I have to be the man in this situation. Take her and climb the hell out of here, then get her back to her family. You owe _me_ that. Without me, you'd have never found your brother, so now you go back to my people and you tell them what happened."

"They'll think I killed you, boy—"

"That's a chance you're going to have to take if you ever want to see your brother again. Try for some humanity, Merle, and save the baby, now go."

Fastening the baby to him once again, Merle found a sloped section of the gorge and twisting his right arm around a vine, he dug his fingers into the soft, damp earth, scrabbling to climb out. Behind and below him, he heard Glenn using up the last of his rounds to take out the stream of biters. Judith was fussing about in her sling and made a cry of distress at the sound of gunshots.

"Now, you hush up," said Merle, sticking his tongue between his teeth as he clawed at everything within reach to keep his hold. If he lost his balance for even a second, he would not only crush the baby, but probably break his neck during the fall. He fought his way upward for what seemed like at least half an hour, but the higher he climbed, the less he could hear below and he knew that Glenn had run out of bullets within the first five minutes. But he didn't hear screams from below either, which made him start to question just what the hell Glenn was thinking when he decided to go out Butch Cassidy style. The kid was made of tougher shit than Merle originally thought, but no one could remain quiet when dozens of teeth were ripping chunks of flesh from their body. It was reflexive to scream, but Merle heard nothing.

Within sight of the top, Merle heaved himself forward, rolling onto his back at the last second to avoid flattening the baby, and lay gasping for breath for thirty seconds before he forced himself to his feet. Even now that he was out of the gorge, he couldn't wait around. The drop-off was called so for a reason; biters were falling in all the time, which was why the place was filled to the brim with corpses, and so he couldn't let his guard down.

Judith cooed and Merle shifted her to his back, checking the position of the sun. He had to keep at it, keep searching, even though he knew that he would just have to cross back through the gorge later unless he found the way around, the way that Glenn hadn't wanted to look for. If the kid was dead, it had been for nothing, but with biters on their ass, there hadn't been much of a choice.

"Wasn't my fault," said Merle, though to whom he was talking, he didn't know. Maybe he thought that God would hear him better if he said it aloud instead of just thinking it, but since when had God ever cared about what was spoken versus what was thought?

A gargled sound along the lines of "blrrrrrgh" came from Merle's back and he felt the baby snuggling in for nap.

"Yeah, thanks for the input, kid."


	12. Chapter 12: Odd Men

**ANDREA**

"_You don't get to do that. To come into somebody's life, make them care and then just check out…"_

"Dale…"

A wet cloth padded her forehead and she heard rustling around her. Inhaling deeply, she felt her side wound protest the movement and she gave a low moan of pain, trying to sit up. Hands eased her back down and a voice from what seemed like the other side of a dying walkie-talkie told her to open her mouth. Water reached her lips and she gulped thirstily, letting the lukewarm liquid run down her parched throat. A hand on the back of her head helped her keep it elevated so that she didn't choke and when she had taken her fill, she opened her eyes.

Milton knelt beside her on the floor, holding a tin cup of water for her. His glasses were folded and hung from his shirt pocket and from what Andrea could see in the dim light, he was rather pasty-looking.

"Milton—"

"Shh," said Milton quietly. "You're fine. I would have woken Hershel, but you don't seem to be in any immediate danger, so I thought I'd let him sleep. He's been working overtime to keep you alive—among other things."

He brought a blanket up to Andrea's chest and smoothed it out before settling into a cross-legged position, continuing to sponge her forehead.

"What happened?" asked Andrea groggily.

"Well, that depends on what you remember. When did you lose consciousness?"

"Right after Michonne brought me inside."

"In that case, you've missed close to nothing. You've been out for almost a day, and sometime in the night, Rick and Maggie found us. Glenn wasn't with them, so that makes three unaccounted for: Merle, Beth, and Glenn—and the baby, too, I guess. Daryl has gone out searching for his brother, the rest are rotating watch and Hershel has insisted that I stay inside to keep an eye on you, though I know his true motives. He wants to avoid another outburst."

The way in which Milton spoke made it sound like it was a common occurrence for him, a quiet, well-mannered, introverted social recluse to suddenly burst into fits of rage and Andrea suspected that this time he had gone too far, forcing Hershel to put him inside next to her to protect him.

"Milton, what did you do?"

"Well, that sounds highly accusatory," said Milton indignantly. "But if you must know, nothing permanently damaging."

"What—did—you—_do_?"

"I nearly throttled Daryl."

Andrea didn't know whether to reach up and smack Milton for breaking his promise to Rick or to pull him in closer and comfort him, so she kept still and quiet while he continued to explain.

"Daryl, in all of his wisdom, saw fit to blame me for his brother's disappearance, and when he had gotten too close for too long, I defended myself. A scuffle ensued and I had another episode like the one in the prison courtyard. Thankfully, Hershel was there to subdue me like how he did his brother before they had pills and alternate methods for this sort of thing. I used up the rest of my energy during the brawl and passed out, but Daryl himself moved me in here and he hasn't been back since so that I could apologize. I offered my apologies to Rick for not removing myself from the company of others like I promised I would, but in truth, he didn't seem like he cared one way or another. Actually, no one seems to care what I do as long as I don't talk to them."

He didn't sound hurt, only observant, which was all the worse.

"Is Hans still here?" asked Andrea.

"Yes, for the time being. When Hershel vouched for him, Rick had no choice. Hans saved Hershel's life as well as yours, mine, and Michonne's, and he helped get the group to this cabin to set up, so he's proven himself to be useful. But if Rick had his daughter with him, I don't know that he would keep Hans around; he seems to be slipping, not altogether aware of the situation and since Daryl's out searching, Hershel's taken command."

"And Michonne? Is she treating you nicely?"

From what Andrea could remember of the time she spent in their company, they did not get along at all and only agreed on finding water and saving her. Andrea had asked Michonne at the prison to be patient with Milton, but since he had been right in Phillip's inner circle, Michonne was insistent that he had known about Phillip's plans to have Merle execute her. That unfriendliness came out while Milton was attempting to lead them back to the group, though Milton didn't seem to take it personally since everyone tread carefully where he was concerned. The fact that Milton did not let words or actions affect him emotionally was often a gift since Andrea had never seen someone treated so coldly, but at the same time, she was doing her best to make him open up and the group was not helping by encouraging him to shut down.

Milton shrugged. "She threatened to stick her sword in an unpleasant place last night when she wanted to sleep beside you and I was in the way and though it was an empty threat, I can understand her concern." He yawned and his stomach gave a low grumble.

"When was the last time you ate?"

"The morning before we left the prison," said Milton nonchalantly.

"What?" said Andrea, trying to sit up again and Milton put his hand on her shoulder with a shake of his head.

"It's okay, really. I was running on adrenaline that night and well into the next day and after my episode, I've been thirsty more than anything, not hungry."

"It doesn't matter; your body is going to shut down even if you don't feel hunger. You need to eat—hasn't anyone offered you any food?"

"Hans and Michonne caught some rabbits and Hershel tried to get me to eat, but I vomited, so he let me be. Who's Dale?"

With her brain still processing Milton's malnutrition, Andrea was slow on the uptake and blinked once before realizing that Milton had just asked her a question. "What?"

"Dale," Milton repeated. "You were talking in your sleep, saying two names over and over. I know about Amy, but who's Dale? Or rather, who was he, since I'm deducing that he's no longer with us?"

This time, his curtness hurt her and she turned her head away from him. He didn't understand that he had hurt her, but she still felt that his attitude towards the subject was not inviting in the least.

"I apologize; I didn't realize the subject was so painful for you," said Milton in his flat, emotionless tone.

Praying for patience, Andrea turned back towards him and beckoned he lean closer. "Milton, in this world for what it is now, you should assume that anyone whose name is spoken by anyone else is dead and worthy of grief. Anyone who isn't or wasn't at some point a part of this group or in my personal family means nothing to me."

"I understand."

"Do you? Or are you just saying that because you don't want an argument?"

"No, I truly do understand—on your behalf, anyway. I can't say the same of my situation, but I can see how you and your friends can harbor such emotion for loved ones lost."

Andrea paused. She had touched on this subject before, but the death of Michael Coleman had driven the rest of the conversation from her mind. All she remembered about Milton Mamet's personal life before the end of the world was that he was an only child whose parents died when he was quite young and who would telecommute to work.

"You had to have lost someone, Milton. Someone whose death triggered something inside of you that would help you see what it's like to mourn."

"I knew some people in Woodbury, but never on close terms. It was like seeing a neighbor who you only exchanged casual greetings over the fence with suddenly being taken away in an ambulance and never coming back. You feel temporary sadness that the world is just a little bit smaller and then you move on. Besides that, no one of importance comes to mind."

"Not even Phillip?"

Milton wiped his glasses on his shirt before carefully replacing them and pushing them up the bridge of his nose before answering. "Especially not Phillip. It's an entirely different feeling to have someone who you might have had a truly trusting relationship with suddenly turn hostile on you when you call him out on his crazed ways. I was never Phillip's friend, only his advisor, and I knew he saw me as a lackey instead of an equal. Though I was grateful for the shelter and protection he supplied, I almost never agreed with his methods, but I knew that if I refused him or truly spoke out about my opinions, he'd shut me down or throw me out, so when I left Woodbury for good, I felt no remorse. On the other hand, I could not bring myself to kill him, even though I had the opportunity two times in less than twenty-four hours. I saw him the night of the prison escape and nearly shot him when he had Carl hostage, but the biters foiled that plan. And yesterday, I had the chance to end his life and put an end to the hate he's feeling, to rid this group of one threat, but I couldn't. I can't take another human's life."

"Thank you—for not giving up Michonne."

"That's not something that you should even consider thanking me for. No decent human being would step aside and let a man torture another human out of revenge."

"There's not many decent human beings left, though."

"There's enough of us," said Hershel, appearing above Andrea with his crutch. There were wrinkles of happiness around his eyes, which twinkled behind his thick white eyebrows. Maybe it was the bullet wound talking, but Andrea couldn't help but think of Santa Claus and how, if children still believed in such a thing, they would think that Hershel was the apocalypse's Father Christmas. Hershel lowered himself down to check her temperature and her bandages and after a quick examination, nodded his head in approval. "You're doing just fine; you're a fighter. Milton was very courteous to let me get in a nap, but now I want him to go take watch with Carl and eat those canned prunes Hans found. I want to be able to see my reflection in the bottom of the can when you bring it back."

"Actually, it's not advisable to eat that many prunes in one sitting unless flatulence isn't an issue," said Milton bluntly, to which Hershel burst out laughing and had to sit down to control himself. Andrea wanted to join in, but knew that her wound would stretch if she did, so she resorted to smiling and shooing Milton on his way. Once he had gone, Hershel wiped the corners of his eyes and coughed once or twice to clear his air passages.

"That one is something else, Andrea. His sense of humor is very dry and distant, so I don't think he realizes how hilarious he sounds to the rest of us when he makes jokes that would send most teenage boys and immature men into stitches. And I am immature for laughing at a fart joke, I'll admit, but it was worth it. I haven't laughed that hard since—well, since the last time I talked to him during the parlay with the Governor."

"You trust him, don't you?" asked Andrea.

"I do now, yes. Before, I was aware of his uses, but now, after comin' across the Governor twice and choosin' our people both times at great personal risk, he's earned my respect. And I think he genuinely wants to be with us, from what little he's said to open up to me."

"He won't open up to anyone, so don't take it personally. Would you do me a favor, then, and keep an eye on him, keep his spirits up until I'm back on my feet? He thinks that everyone is giving him the cold shoulder since he came back and the others didn't."

Hershel nodded. "If he's up to it, I'll start teachin' him some medical skills worth knowin' since we lost Carol."

Andrea hung her head, shamed that her friend had died because of a terror that Andrea herself had brought trailing behind her. Hershel, however, interpreted her sadness and patted her shoulder. "However this turns out, none of it is your fault. The Governor attacked us before you even knew we were at the prison."

"But he brought his full force because I left Woodbury. He felt betrayed by Merle, then me and Milton and I keep thinking that if we had just gone back with him, or even reasoned with him, maybe tried to work things out before Rick gave the call, Carol would still be alive and—"

"And that is enough," said Hershel firmly. "You need to get some rest now and I'll be back to check in on you in an hour or—"

"It's Merle!" shouted Carl from the porch.

"Help me up," said Andrea, reaching for Hershel's hand, but the old man had a hard enough time trying to stand up with his one crutch. He pulled her into an upright position, but while he was still struggling to find his own footing, Milton helped him to stand and then bent back down for Andrea, escorting her with one arm around her waist to the open doorway where the group had gathered to see Merle Dixon dragging his feet toward them looking either incredibly pissed or absolutely exhausted and absolutely filthy.

"Is it just you?" asked Rick as Merle came closer and only then did Andrea realize that his muscle shirt was gone.

"I hope y'all got a change've diapers, 'cause this piece've work here's done used up all my damn shirt as replacements," said Merle, and from behind him he produced Judith comfortably settled into a sling Merle had fashioned.

Rick gave a strangled sob, then dropped his rifle and ran to Merle to relieve him of the baby with Carl trailing closely behind. Merle lifted the sling off of his shoulders and surrendered Judith, looking relieved as he trudged up to the house, glancing from face to face and realizing that his brother was not there. Before he could speak, however, Hershel eased his conscience with assurances that Daryl had just gone out hunting.

"You must be hungry," said Hershel as Merle dropped to his knees and gave a sigh of fatigue. "And thirsty too, I imagine. We finally did find water."

"Now he tells me," said Merle, throwing up his arms. "The shit I do for you people." Now taking his time to get a proper look at them all, he smirked at Milton. "Y'did alright then gettin' 'em back, then, Miltie, or didja just get lucky?"

"He got us here on his own," said Andrea, thinking fleetingly that if Merle had nothing but derogatory remarks to make, he might have been better off staying lost.

Hans brought Merle a plastic water bottle filled with boiled-down water and Merle drained it in two giant chugs, eyeing Hans suspiciously. "What're you still doin' here?"

"He's been invaluable," said Hershel. "The group's in bad shape with one thing and another and he's helped out in every way possible, including helpin' Milton bring Andrea and Michonne in as well as skinnin' what kills Daryl's managed to bring in. As far as I'm concerned, he's earned his place and now that you're here, I think you have too."

"Really?" said Merle skeptically. "How y'figure?"

"You had the baby, which is somethin' I never would've expected from you. And from how Milton tells it, it was your idea to go back for Andrea and Michonne even after you found out they'd been captured and—"

"An' lemme stop you before y'get rollin'," said Merle, but Andrea noted the heaviness in his voice. "Glenn's dead."

Maggie clutched the railing unsteadily and Hershel grasped her arm as the two of them looked down on Merle. It was a blunt expression spoken with no malice, but for Merle to have said it after everything that had happened between him and Glenn back in Woodbury, it looked bad all around.

"What happened?" asked Michonne.

"I had to shoot 'im," said Merle. "He had the biters on 'im. It was a mercy killin'."

"You hated him from the moment he wouldn't take you to Daryl when we went on that formula run and you dragged us back to Woodbury you son of a bitch," Maggie snarled, stomping down the steps to where Merle was getting back on his feet. "I heard you beating the shit out of him and you were going to execute us, so don't expect me to believe that you killed him so that the walkers wouldn't get him!"

"Look, you ain't never seen things my way since y'all came back from Woodbury so I ain't wastin' my breath tryin' t'convince you now. 'F I say it was mercy, it was'n you'd best respect that."

"You expected us to _respect_ you after what you did to us? If Rick hadn't busted us out of Woodbury right when he did, we'd be dead by your hands, you bastard! He told you to make it work, to make an effort, but you didn't. You didn't even try once we found each other again and now Glenn is dead because of you!"

"Bullshit!" shouted Merle with less than a foot between them.

Maggie flew at him, knife in hand and he looked prepared to block her, knock her on her ass even, but Milton got there first. He wrapped his arms around Maggie's middle and hauled her backwards, holding fast as she beat her fist at him, demanding that he let go as she continued to rage at Merle, swiping the air with the knife in a futile attempt to get closer. Milton said nothing, but kept his hold until Maggie wrenched herself free of his arms and slapped him across the face before drawing her pistol.

"Don't you ever touch me!"

"Maggie, you need to calm down now," said Rick, motioning to Carl to take the baby. "Glenn was my friend too, a brother to me, and I understand how hard this is for you, but you gotta put the gun down now, okay? You'll draw walkers and this group's already in bad enough shape. Put the gun down."

"It's him!" shouted Maggie viciously, directing her weapon at Merle who rested his hand on his own automatic. "None of this would have happened if he hadn't kidnapped us. We should have given this mutt back to his master when we had the chance. Him too!" She turned to Milton, who had a gun at his belt, but who made no aggressive motion to use it.

"Maggie, that's enough," said Andrea, fearing for Milton's life. Someone had to, because Milton didn't have a deliberate mean bone in his body, and even if it came to his own life, he wouldn't risk hurting someone else.

"You go to hell, both of you!"

Andrea could see Maggie's fear taking over, controlling her motions, and her finger was seconds from pulling the trigger when Hans moved in front of Milton, completely blocking him from view.

"Put the gun down, please," said Hans.

"Fuck you; you were with the Governor, forcing us out of our home. Fuck _you_!"

"_Maggie_," said Hershel. "Honey, that is enough. You drop that pistol right now, hear me? You're turnin' on your own people now."

"They're not my people," sobbed Maggie. "They never will be." She let her arms drop at her sides, palms turned skyward as if to ask God _why me_? Andrea understood that more than most people would. Maggie still had her father, Rick still had Carl, Merle still had Daryl, but Andrea had no living blood. She, Michonne, and Milton were alone and had done better without their families than with them, but Maggie had just lost her husband and that was a blow that could not be softened by any amount of comfort or consoling.

Hans touched Maggie's wrist and then, after reassuring himself that she wouldn't react, gently removed the pistol from her hand, giving it to Milton. As soon as her weapon was taken away, Maggie's strength gave out and she collapsed, but Hans was able to break most of the fall, lowering her onto the bed of leaves at her feet. She didn't resist his touch, but Andrea knew she didn't want it and Hans was smart enough to know that as well, for he patted her back and moved away, but only far enough that he wasn't invading her space. He nodded to Hershel and then the old man beckoned to Merle.

"Let's get you inside and I'll have a look atcha."

"Much obliged," said Merle, dropping the packs he was carrying and tromping up the steps, watched carefully by Rick and Michonne who were still on guard.

"Milton," called Andrea. "Come on inside; Hershel might need your help."

"Okay," said Milton in that obedient, matter-o-factly tone of his.

"Carl, in a few minutes, bring the baby in. She seems healthy, but I want to be doubly sure," said Hershel.

"Believe me, that baby's more'n fine," said Merle. "She shits worse'n somebody with the runs. She's probably hungry since there weren't no time t'boil water and add t'the formula. S'all in the bag there." He gestured at the packs.

As Merle relieved Hershel of Andrea to help her back inside, Andrea couldn't help but notice the muscular planes of his chest and how he looked, if it was possible, more intimidating than ever. Noticing where she was looking, Merle cocked an eyebrow at her.

"See somethin' y'like, sweetheart?"

"I'm just trying to comprehend you sacrificing the shirt off of your back to make into diapers for a baby that's not yours."

"Well, I couldda walked 'round with a screamin' kid who was sittin' in her own feces for twenny-four hours, but a shirt's a small price t'pay. I'll find another."

"You can have one've mine," Hershel offered, "but only after I've looked you over."

Merle set Andrea down at the foot of the bed and shot her a wink. "I'dda paid good money t'see _you_ strip down t'the bare minimum, Blondie."

"Shove it up your ass, Merle."

"Is he bothering you?" asked Milton, joining them and glaring at Merle reproachfully.

"If I am, y'gonna stop me, Miltie? Gonna scold me'n use a dictionary full've words t'make me look like an idiot?"

On the verge of defending him, Andrea was surprised to hear Milton speak out on his own, and with some pent-up emotion in his voice.

"Did I do something to upset you or make you hate me recently, Merle? Because I've done what I can to contribute, but you still insist on belittling me even after the feat I accomplished in getting Andrea here before she bled out. At least I'm trying not to antagonize people. You should give it a shot sometime."

"Boy, I will stomp your ass—"

Hershel shoved Merle back, making him sit down on the bed beside Andrea. "The next one've you three who's got something derogatory to say to each other can have diaper duty for the next week, how's that?"

Andrea, Milton, and Merle said nothing.


	13. Chapter 13: Soften the Blow

**MERLE**

"Your nose isn't broken, you'll be happy to hear," said Hershel as he finished giving Merle a thorough checkup.

"Sounds jus' dandy," said Merle, starting to dig through Hershel's bag for the replacement shirt he was promised. He found only an old white t-shirt with permanent grey sweat stains and a red flannel. Holding both shirts up, he shook them at Hershel. "What'm I s'posed t'do with these?"

"Take whichever one y'want and cut it up like y'need to," said Hershel, quietly pointing out individual tools in his kit to Milton while storing them away.

"No thanks, I'll go find my own."

"We don't have a lot of options here, Merle, and you should take what's offered to you while you have the chance," said Andrea with a scowl. "You can't be going on runs just to find yourself a wife beater."

"Hey, I couldda let that baby's butt go raw from sittin'n rubbin' 'round in her own shit, but I made a personal sacrifice on my part, so I think I've damned well earned the right to a shirt've my own choosin'."

"Or, you could just choose between the shirts we have instead of wasting human resources to find an immaterial piece of clothing that no one is going to judge you on," suggested Milton, speaking to Hershel's kit.

"The hell'djoo say t'me?" Merle demanded.

"Are we not adults here?" said Hershel with a hint of impatience. "Merle, there's already been an incident with Milton and your brother; don't you go makin' more trouble. Just do a tired ol' man a favor an' step outside for a while, alright?"

"Why's it always the Dixons that get kicked outta the house? That lil' pussy's just as guilty as I am."

"Fine, I'll go, if only to stop you complaining like a five year old," said Milton.

"No, Milton, stay there." Hershel put his hands on Merle's shoulders, an act that would have earned anyone else a punch to the face, but for reasons Merle could not explain, the old man's touch was oddly calming. "Merle, I'm not kickin' you out; I asked you t'step out, that's all. I just asked you, you above Milton because I'd like some words with him, whereas I think you'n me both know you're not actually angry like he is. Now, please, gimme a moment alone with 'im."

Merle once again led Andrea from point A to point B like a half-living dummy that needed to be escorted everywhere. On the deck, Carl was feeding Judith, his maimed hand clumsily holding her bottle. Watching him, Merle felt strangely guilty for what had happened to the boy. The kid could hold a gun, shoot it if he needed to, and kill his target, but he was still a boy, susceptible to the fears of all children and in the dark, he had run towards the voice that he recognized, which happened to be Merle's. That act cost him half of his dominant hand.

"Hey," said Carl, looking up.

Merle nodded to him.

"Thanks for getting me out of there with the Governor. And for Judith—I didn't expect you to—I mean, I never would have thought it'd be _you_ to bring her back. I owe you."

"Forget it," said Merle.

He saw Maggie still curled up in the same spot Hans had left her in, though now Hans was several feet away, speaking quietly with Rick and Michonne.

"You should go talk to her," Carl suggested. "We've all tried, but she won't move and we don't want to force her. This might sound bad, but maybe if you said something to her, it would get her to stand up or something so we could bring her inside."

"You could do that without me sayin' nothin' to her," Merle reasoned.

"We don't want to force her if we can help it. Especially with how things have gone in the last forty-eight hours, we want to be gentle where we can."

Merle exchanged a sideways glance with Andrea as if to say, _Is this kid for real?_ but Andrea gave him a little shooing motion and Merle trudged down the now well-worn trail to where Maggie was hugging her legs. Before he could even speak, however, Maggie drove her knife into the ground as if to prove a point.

"Don't say a word. I'mma stab you in your foot if you try'n say anythin' to me."

"Walker!" shouted Carl and Merle readied his replacement pistol, but the image of the biter coming towards him in a way that seemed almost human made it impossible to shoot. If he had been in Carl's position and just a bit further back from where he was now, he would have thought the same thing, but up close, so much of the human aspect remained, perhaps because he had seen the biter as a human, knew the biter as a human, and loathed it.

Maggie stood up in front of Merle and he could hear her exhale softly as the biter closed the distance.

"Shoot it!" yelled Hans.

"_Him_," Maggie whispered just so Merle could hear her.

"It ain't," said Merle in response.

And it wasn't anymore because the awful, uneven path of bloodied exposed flesh along his neck where the biter had torn into him confirmed any doubts Merle had about Glenn the Korean being alive. His eyes were grey, vacant, dead, gone, and Maggie had to know that, but she refused to even raise her knife to defend herself.

"Maggie, shoot him!"

Merle knew she wouldn't. He'd known from the second he saw her staring at the biter that she wouldn't be able to even if she did have a gun, but he had hoped that someone else would be close enough or just had the balls to do it instead of leaving it to him because if there was one thing that could possibly make his situation worse, it was being the one to cap off the kid's head. Still, he'd be in a lot worse shit if he let the biter munch on her, so he elbowed her aside and put a bullet in the biter's head near the hairline. He holstered his pistol and walked back up towards the porch, but Rick was waiting for him, blocking his way with his head tilted sideways in that confrontational manner that Merle detested so much.

"You—lied," said Rick.

"Big shocker there, ain't it? What was I supposed t'say, huh? I lied t'make the blow easier and I didn't expect his corpse t'come walkin' up in here. If I told the truth y'all still wouldn't've believed me 'cause of what went down between me'n him in Woodbury."

"So how about the truth this time," Rick suggested. "Then we'll see how far-fetched it is."

"Screw you, man. Whatever I say, ain't nobody gonna take it for the truth. Y'all gonna think I'm just ampin' up the hero aspect of it."

"You don't amp up details on people you don't like," said Milton and for once, Merle was grateful that he had spoken.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Merle saw Maggie peering at him through bloodshot eyes, quaking in Hans and Michonne's arms. He didn't owe her anything, but she had gotten mixed up in all this shit because of her affiliation with Glenn. She never knew Merle before and he had made the first move in making her hate him from the start. Besides, the truth couldn't hurt any less now that she had seen her lover try to take a bite out of her face.

"We'd just met up, maybe been walkin' best part've an hour," Merle explained. "He wanted the kid and I let 'im have 'er. Got tailed by hell've a lotta biters'n had t'slide down into a gorge, but the biters followed and there weren't no way both've us were climbin' out. The baby started screamin' and the biters were comin' in fast, so Glenn told me t'run with the baby and I told 'im he could go fuck 'imself, 'cause I'd already been passed the hot potato b'fore and I didn't wanna take 'er again. So Glenn punches me in the face and hands me the kid and then he put his gun t'my head, tellin' me that if I didn't climb my ass outta there, he'd off me'n then all three've us would die. Personally, I think it was a stupid move 'cause I'm the one with a single hand'n he expected me t'haul m'self up with the baby, but I wasn't arguin' with them biters closin' in. I got out, tried t'scope it from above'n shoot, but I couldn't see 'im'n I didn't hear 'im neither, so I didn't know what the hell'd gone down. 'F he was bein' eaten, he'd be screamin', ain't no way t'avoid that, but I didn't hear nothin', so I just kept walkin'. Maybe he got that bite and then climbed out, hopin' t'reach the old man in time, I dunno, never will. That's how it went down, take it or leave it."

No one spoke, but everyone was staring accusingly at him. Merle felt heat rising along his collar and his survival instincts were flashing for him to make a run for it while he still could. Without Daryl here, no one was on his side and everything from his reputation for being a two-faced liar right down to Glenn's twice-dead body pointed to Merle as guilty in this instance.

"This is what he does," said Maggie at last. "He always survives while better people die around him and better people get hurt. Carol, Carl, Andrea, Glenn…a-and Beth."

_Beth._

Merle didn't know why it hadn't occurred to him until now, but he did a quick head count and came up two short. He appealed to Hershel.

"Did my brother go out huntin' alone?"

"That he did."

"Shit. Didn't none've y'all go lookin' for that girl?"

"_That girl_?" Maggie repeated shrilly. "My sister, _Beth_, never made it back, but you did, didn't you?"

"Argh, shut up. Y'all stay here." Merle pointed to the porch where his AK-47 was sitting unused against the wall. "Toss me that, Miltie."

"Hey, you aren't goin' anywhere," said Rick. "Your loyalty to the group is being questioned right here, right now, and your brother's gonna pitch a fit if he comes back and finds out that you've gone _again_."

"Tell 'im t'grow the hell up. I'll be back in an hour. Time me if y'wanna 'cause I _am_ comin' back."

"Dixon!" Rick shouted, but Merle let the bird fly over his shoulder as he started out southeast towards the cave he had made camp at with the others. He knew which direction by asking Hans offhand, but he was still taking a bit of a risk in going out alone without telling anyone and promising to return in record time. However, after everything that had just happened with Glenn and Maggie and even by bringing the baby back in one piece, he had just fucked up his chances of being accepted into the group with no qualms and this was the only way that he could even slightly redeem himself. He just prayed that she was still there, if she had managed to get there in the first place.

And less than a half hour later, there she was, slumped up against the inside of the cave with her knees tucked to her chest and a piece of crumpled paper clutched in her hand. Merle stepped in close to her, surprised that the crunch of his boots on the remaining twigs from the fire didn't alert her to his presence. She looked like shit and was probably starving, dehydrated, and in need of serious pain killers, but she was alive, judging by the slow pulse beating on the side of her neck. Merle took a knee in front of her and peered closely at her to examine her for bites. When he tried to check her folded arm, she suddenly came awake and swiped at him with her small, rather pathetic-looking knife.

"Hey, hey, knock it off, damn it!"

Screaming, Beth jabbed at Merle's gut and managed to barely nick him. He slapped his hand over her mouth and held up his blade so that she could see it.

"Y'stab me again and we're gonna have problems, honey. Don't make me tie y'up head t'toe and drag you b'hind me."

Beth went still, bulging eyes watching him closely.

"Y'know me, kid, I ain't gonna hurtcha, now get on outta here."

"My knee's still busted," said Beth in a scraggly voice. "It didn't get better in a day and it took me almost six hours to get this far, so that means you either gotta leave me here or carry me."

"Well, ain'tchoo the little demandin' miss prissy t'day, huh?"

Even with what she had gone through in the past two days, Beth still had the sassy attitude she had taken up since his arrival at the prison. Carol had mentioned how coy and helpless the girl was, but this piece of work was an entirely different person.

"Would it help if I said please?"

"Don'tchoo dare. C'mere, then."

Merle put his arm around her waist and she grabbed his shoulder, hopping to take the pressure off of her bad leg. He would have to carry her eventually, but he wanted to conserve his own energy just in case he needed to fight off biters on the way back and he only had about half an hour to get back to the cabin which was now uphill and twice as far considering that he had a cripple in tow. To her credit, though, she didn't complain and though her face was screwed up like she had to take a serious dump, she never made a sound. Merle alternated carrying her while having her hold his automatic until, sweating in the early evening cold and shivering slightly at the lack of an additional shirt, he saw the cabin through the closely-knit trees.

"Comin' in!" he hollered, scooping up Beth one last time to prevent her from tripping over the alarm line of bottles with pebbles and cans that the group had constructed in his absence.

"It's Beth, he's got Beth!" cried Carl from the roof.

"Is she okay?" asked Hershel, hobbling down the steps as quickly as he could on one leg while the rest of the group, including Daryl, came running from inside the cabin.

"She'll be fine, just dehydrated is all," said Merle, passing Beth off to his brother, but before Daryl could carry her away, she grabbed Merle's shirt.

"Wait," she said weakly, reaching into her belt. She held up Merle's Browning Hi-Power. "I knew you'd be back for this. It's got half a clip left—I made 'em all count."

Merle took the pistol and laughed, tucking his weapon away and giving Beth what he hoped was not a leer. "Not bad, kiddo."

Hershel and Maggie didn't let Daryl get far as they swarmed him and hugged Beth, crying into her mud-caked blonde ponytail and fussing over every inch of her. Merle had to remind himself that she was only seventeen, just a few years older than Carl—but she had done alright by him. Once the Greene family had had their share of sobs and happy reunions, Daryl proceeded to carry Beth inside so that Hershel could set her knee, but Maggie, now dabbing at her eyes with the back of her hand, turned back to Merle.

_God, now what?_

"I need to talk to you alone."

"Not with that gun in hand you don't."

"Fine," said Maggie, throwing it down in the dirt. "Happy? Now come on."

She led Merle out for about five minutes, well out of ear and eye shot of the cabin, but close enough that the sound of a gun going off would alert the others if they needed help. It was here, on level ground with about three feet between them that she rested her hands on her hips as if ready to deliver a scolding instead of whatever it was she had planned to tell him. Her nerve seemed to have failed her slightly, for she chewed the inside of her lip, rocking on her heels, and avoiding eye contact.

Finally, Merle broke the silence. "Whatever it is y'gotta say, go on'n say it, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that. After what you put me through, you have no right. You have the gall to stand there and call me that after what the Governor did to _me_?"

"I didn't know what he was gonna do t'you. I wanted Glenn t'tell me where the prison was. Me, just me, only me'n that wouldda been that. I wasn't gonna tell the Governor'n you can see why. I was gonna interrogatechoo m'self, but he got t'you first."

"I will never, ever forgive you for what you did. You would've killed me and not thought twice about it and I don't believe that you'll ever change. You're not a good person, you're not decent, you're barely human by the loosest definition, and I hate you almost as much as I hate that dictatin' son've a bitch."

"But…" Merle prompted.

"But you brought back my sister. You saved my dad and you made sure Beth would survive. You risked your life for the child've the man who put your life in jeopardy. All've those people are my family and some part of me tells me that I need to be grateful."

"Well, then, lemme stop you there. Don't be grateful. Hate me all y'want, do whatever y'gotta do, but don't be glarin' at me every chance y'get. 'F there's one thing that grates on my nerves more than anythin', it's people givin' me the stink-eye. Keep your distance, don't say 'nother word t'me ever again for all I care, an' we'll call it even."

"Just one more thing."

"What?"

"Did you kill Glenn?"

Merle couldn't help it; he had to laugh—and Maggie punched him for it. It didn't hurt, but it did give Merle an idea. He tucked his pistol back into its holster and held up his arms.

"Okay, then, let it all out. C'mon."

At first, Maggie looked confused, but the meaning of Merle's words sunk in and she rushed him, swinging her fist to hit him in the ear. He moved just enough so that her knuckles hit the side of his neck instead, holding his arms in close to his ribs to protect them as she fought him like the night he almost executed her. She didn't know where to place her hits, but she was definitely aiming to do maximum damage, for several of her punches felt more like they were coming from Merle's drill sergeant than from a woman who'd probably never thrown a punch in her life. After a few moments, her swings became slower, messier, and half-hearted until with one final swipe she went down on all fours, gasping through tears as her shoulders heaved.

Merle let her have her cry-out, standing watch in case any biters had come to investigate the source of the wailing, but none showed. When at last her crying had subsided, she peered at him through her mess of tangled hair and she actually looked surprised that he was still there.

"Well…"

Merle shrugged one shoulder. "What?"

"Aren't you gonna say what a stupid bitch I am for wantin' your blood all this time even though I know you didn't kill him?"

"'F I thought it'd make either've us feel better, I would, but it's kinda pointless, don'tcha think? I letchoo do what y'needed to so we could get this over with, but it's done now, y'unnerstand? We ain't gonna bring this topic up again 'cause it's settled."

"It'll never be settled between the two of us, Merle, and you know it."

"It will be if we expect t'survive together, which I intend t'do. Y'do what seems best, butchoo got your dad'n a sister still. Whatever sense've a world y'got in your head didn't die just 'cause Glenn did. That's why you people ain't long for this world if y'can't suck it up'n accept death when it comes. Y'gotta be prepared t'see evry'body die at any moment or y'never gonna make it. Come on back when you're ready. Or don't."


	14. Chapter 14: Democracy

**MILTON**

Milton had been to plenty of board meetings at work another lifetime ago and a few small council gatherings in Woodbury, but this was the first time he could genuinely say that he had been to anything resembling a campfire without the fire, the outdoor aspect, or the toasted marshmallows on pokers with happy-go-lucky songs being belted out at various levels of tone-deafness. For the sake of keeping biters away and any of Phillip's men still on the prowl (or even Phillip himself), Rick had brought everyone inside the tiny cabin to eat Daryl's assortment of woodchucks, squirrels, chipmunks, and prairie dogs as they discussed their next move. The windows had been draped with the bedsheets to block out the light from the candles or the small, wooden stove which they used to cook their meat. Picking at their food with greasy fingers, they listened to Rick and Hershel exchange pros and cons of staying, leaving, how far, where, and for how long.

Normally, Glenn and Carol would have been the secondary voices in the decision-making, but since both of them were now dead, no one remained to take their place that felt confident enough to do so. Michonne, while now a trusted and valued member of the group, did not see herself as a leader by any means and so she said nothing as she nibbled the remaining strands of meat from a bone. Daryl, still in mourning from the loss of Carol, said nothing regardless of the fact that he had his brother back. Maggie was curled up between her sister and father, turning her piece of meat over and over without even noticing and Milton was sure that she would remain in her in slightly catatonic state for a while. Meanwhile, the five outliers of the group (who were now together stronger than the original group, a fact Milton had uncomfortably noticed and kept to himself) were not about to speak out when any authoritative move might be seen as an act of aggression.

"If we stay here, someone or somethin' will come along eventually and force us out and we might be in worse condition then," Hershel reasoned. "It might not be tomorrow or even a month from now, but if it happens durin' the winter, it'll be hard for us to move. We should go now while the way's clear and at least one large herd moved southeast. We're low on ammo and supplies and if half the group goes out on a run, it leaves the rest've us vulnerable. This cabin's not a fortress and has nothin' goin' for it but the roof and four walls. We can do better than that and we have to, for the baby's sake."

"Half the group is already vulnerable," said Rick. "If we push ourselves too hard, we'll lose people and I can't lose anybody else, not after today."

"I say we vote," said Hershel. "Only the group knows what's best for the group, not just you, Rick. You've served us well, led us well, and helped us survive, but after leavin' the prison, we're in shambles. We meant t'hold the prison, make a home of it, but that didn't work out, so now we gotta look to everyone else's needs."

"So let's vote," said Andrea.

"All in favor of staying here?" asked Hershel.

No one raised their hand.

"And all in favor of finding a better place?"

All the hands but Maggie's went up, though Hershel didn't seem bothered by this. Outnumbered, Rick placed his hands on his hips and started pacing the circle, talking to his boots as he churned up dust.

"Alright, we'll go at first light. It'll be hard, but we gotta keep movin' until we find someplace more secure where we can get medical supplies and food. We've got enough people injured and a baby, but if we all pitch in, all do our part, we'll get through this. I need each and every one've you t'make this happen. I trust _each and every one of you_, but I need you t'trust _me _on this."

"We'll go, Officer Rick, but unless we get ourselves a car, we ain't gonna make it very far," said Merle. "We got ourselves an asthmatic, a one-legged man, two kids—one've 'em maimed, the other an alarm clock, a girl with a busted knee, an' a lady recoverin' from a bullet wound. That leaves six've us in travelin' condition—forget 'bout fightin' condition. We gotta find ourselves a couple vehicles'n then we can talk 'bout makin' it through the winter. 'F we can get our walkin' wounded t'the cars, we might stand a chance."

"How far's the nearest road, Daryl?"

"Three quarters've a mile back that way," said Daryl, pointing to the north wall. "But we passed all them cars dozens've times and ain't never seen one in usable condition, which means we gotta hike out further. S'gonn be a long walk an' I ain't too sure some've us can make it. What'f we bump into another herd and gotta make a run for it? How're Andrea'n Beth gonna run? How's Hershel gonna keep up with us with that crutch? And the asthmatic asshole—"

"Daryl…" said Hershel sharply.

Milton shrugged at Daryl. If the man still had a grudge about the other day or even the first incident, that was his burden to bear. Milton had given it little thought since, but of all of those in less-than-desirable condition, Milton believed that he looked more favorable than the others. He had survived nearly an entire day without using his inhaler bag, which had given him confidence that he might finally be mastering his breathing problem.

"Tell me that prick's not gonna bog us all down if we gotta get t'runnin'," said Daryl viciously. "The girls are light 'nough t'carry'n with one able-bodied person t'help 'im, Hershel'll make it jus' fine, but this one here's only gonna get the help he needs if he stops'n that puts us all at risk. I'mma tell y'all right now, I ain't stoppin' for him."

"Y'ain't gotta," said Merle.

"Why, you volunteerin'?"

"In hell, little brother. I done my share've babysittin'. 'F Miltie can't keep up, he knows what he's gotta do. He ain't asked nobody t'fall back for 'im, so I dunno whatchoo're fussin' about. 'F we run'n he falls b'hind, he's got a pistol."

"We leave nobody behind," said Hershel with a stern look between the two Dixons. "We're not losin' anybody else. Y'all did your part t'earn your place and as a group, we'll honor that, which means if Milton or anybody falls behind, you _will_ go back for them."

Milton hung his head, picking at the charred meat still stuck to his fire poker. What exactly had he done to earn his place with the group? Helped carry Hershel? Merle and Hans had helped out with that. Brought Andrea and Michonne back? However much the group cared for Andrea before Woodbury or were indebted to Michonne for alerting them to the governor, they would have preferred Carol and Glenn and it was not relief that Milton saw when he escorted the ladies up to the cabin door. No, he hadn't earned his place, and yet Hershel was once again siding with him, defending him, making him look weak and incapable of speaking out for himself.

"I can't promise that I won't have trouble breathing, but after the events of the episode with those men wearing aprons the other day, I think I've proven myself capable of handling stressful situations while running on little oxygen."

"That don't change nothin'," said Daryl, licking his poker clean.

"If he says he can make it, he can and he will," said Andrea. "You and your brother need to leave him alone."

"If I need them to back off, I'll say so, Andrea," said Milton.

"By then it'll be too late and you'll go Hulk-Rainman on somebody again," muttered Daryl.

"Can you all just stop already?"

It wasn't Hershel or Rick or even Beth who made the comment, but Hans, and Milton was properly surprised to hear him speak out when he had been getting on well enough with the group by keeping his mouth shut.

"I've heard Merle and Milton argue before and I've seen people in Woodbury get in each other's faces, but they always smoothed things over. You all are giving me a migraine with this constant bickering so please, for the love of God, shut the hell up. This negativity and the demoralizing comments are just bringing everyone else down and spirits are sitting low enough as it is. I'm not asking you to like each other, just don't be so vocal about disliking each other because the rest of us don't have anything else to do but listen and it's damn right depressing."

He stood up, went over to the far corner by the door and tucking his hands into his armpits, curled up to get some sleep before they set out. The others took this as a cue to disband from their faux campfire and trickle off to bed until Merle, Hershel, and Milton were the last ones left.

"I wish he'd have said somethin' earlier," said Hershel "Y'all were on the verge've drivin' me loony."

"You've exhausted yourself tending to everyone who's been injured recently. You go get some sleep and I'll take first watch," Milton offered.

Hershel didn't look too keen on leaving Milton on guard duty and Milton deduced that it was probably due to his inexperience with a weapon plus his cowardice, which made him feel all the worse that the group thought him incapable of taking care of himself. To make matters worse, Merle volunteered to share duty with him, though not for Milton's benefit, he was sure. The two of them took up position by the front door, weapons held loosely in their hands as they peered through the sheets to view the goings-on outside.

There was almost nothing to see since it was an overcast night and the trees blotted out any light from the stars. Yet, Milton could still pick out traces of something here and there, possibly a biter bumping into tree trunks in the dark. The idea of possibly having to spend another night out there with no discernible shelter terrified him and he had almost spoken out when the discussion came to a vote on whether to go or stay, but accepting that he was afraid would mean admitting that he was second weakest of the group in front of the baby.

"Y'got the fidgets or y'just gotta piss, Miltie?" whispered Merle presently and Milton glanced over at him.

"What?"

"Y'been dancin' 'round from foot t'foot like y'gonna have a serious case've the runs an' you're twistin' your hands 'round that semi-automatic like you're hopin' it's a pretzel y'can bend. 'F y'don't cut it out, I'mma sew the gun t'your hands 'cause you're makin' me nervous like you're gonna fire on accident."

"I'm just thinking…distracted."

"First rule've watch duty: keep your mind on the watchin' and nothin' else. That's how people's groups get overrun; their guard's mind was up 'is ass and not on 'is surroundins. Lucky I'm awake with ya or somethin's liable t'sneak up and you'd never know it was there. C'mon now, Miltie, I can't hold your hand for everythin'."

"I would appreciate if you stopped altogether."

"Y'got a death wish, Miltie?"

"I would just prefer to learn things from someone who doesn't feel the need to criticize me for everything I do or don't do."

"Now, where's the fun in that?"

"To the initiator, it might be considered fun, but to the victim, it's tiring and deconstructive, so if it would help you to not do it, just don't talk to me."

"Hey, you don't tell me, son—"

"I suggested it, that's all. I'll try asking this time. Please, don't talk to me anymore unless you absolutely must."

Merle looked offended but not in the dominant male sort of way. He looked more like a child pouting than anything else. "Hell, I'm the only one who talks t'you much anyway, Miltie."

"No, you're the only one who talks back; there's a difference."

"Well, ain'tchoo just a basket've peaches."

"I—can—hear—you," growled Hans from the corner to Milton's right.

"Stick y'fingers in your ears or I'll stick my foot up your ass," Merle threatened before returning to look out the window. "Face it, Miltie, y'need me and y'wouldn'tve gotten this far without me, so I'm entitled t'bust what balls y'got all I want 'til y'pay me back in kind."

Milton wanted to argue how disgustingly unfair this was since he never asked for Merle's assistance in the first place. Not for the proper handling of a weapon, not for helping Hershel, not for lighting the fire their first night, not for looking for water, and certainly not for rescuing the women yet in all of those situations, Merle had been there to help and instruct, perhaps grudgingly, but present nonetheless and now the bastard felt entitled to full mentally crippling access to Milton.

This was just unacceptable and Milton could not allow it. He may be a sorry excuse for any sort of biter killer or survival expert, but he knew things Merle could only conjure up in distant dreams and he was going to use them against Merle, Daryl, and all of those who doubted him because being the weakest link would not do anymore. He had shot his own friend twice, that had to count for something…

Unless, of course, Phillip was out there right now, plotting vengeance against the four people who he had taken in and who plunged knives of different depth into his back.


	15. Chapter 15: A Haze

**ANDREA**

It was a tense morning to which they awoke at an urging from the last guard of the night, Michonne. It was decided that they would once again set out in small groups within the large group just to ensure that they always had an ally nearby and Hershel tried to distribute their manpower evenly while keeping the most critical in the middle of the pack. After pointing out which direction the road was in, Daryl set out first, crossbow trained on the forest since the early morning fog had blocked out a fair amount of their surroundings, making them exposed and blind to any danger. In their tightly knit group, they set out after Daryl with Rick following closely behind and Maggie right behind him. Then came Michonne with Andrea who had to put almost her entire weight onto her friend to remain standing, but they had been here before with Andrea in critical condition and Michonne remaining loyally by her side. Carl carried the baby just on their tail with his arms wrapped around his little sister and his gun with its silencer at the ready in his dominant hand. Hans came next with Beth who was using Hershel's crutch to aid her broken knee, though Hans was there to catch her if she lost her balance. Milton and Hershel were next to last and most likely because he was determined to prove his use and his stamina, Milton was almost completely supporting the older man who had to outweigh him by a good forty pounds. Lastly was Merle, guarding their backs and ready to take over for Milton if the latter suddenly lost his breath.

All who were capable of carrying large weapons did and the injured held the sidearms as they crawled through the fog. Every snap of a twig, rustle of the leaves, or distant animalistic sound brought them to a halt, facing outward to wait and anticipate the arrival of walkers—or worse. After some twenty-odd minutes of this, they came upon their first walker which was closest to Michonne and Andrea. Before Michonne could draw steel, Maggie had rushed out and cleaved its skull open with her machete, causing Rick to go off on her about leaving her place in line.

"What the hell was that?" he hissed at her once she had rejoined the group. "We work as one unit, moving only when I say so, otherwise somebody's gonna get hurt or worse. Just like when we took the prison, remember?"

"You mean that place where we lost three of our people just so we could lose another two out here?"

"I couldn't control those circumstances that brought the Governor to us."

"You might have been able to, but you didn't try very hard."

"Maggie, stop it," said Beth. "He's dead, you understand? He's gone."

"You remember Jimmy, Beth? You remember _Mom_?"

"_Maggie!_"

It was the first time Andrea had ever heard Hershel raise his voice to his daughter and the tone was fierce, horrible, and foreign. That was the voice he must have used when he used to rely heavily upon the bottle and signs of that angry, drunken man showed just now.

"What?" snapped Maggie with equal hostility.

"Do you really want to do this now?" asked Hans, holding Beth upright by her shoulders. "Right at this very moment with all of this shit happening around us?"

"He's right, it's not safe to just stand here arguing," said Michonne. "Let's keep moving."

"With her racket, we probably already brought a handful've biters down on us," said Merle in a voice that carried up to Andrea. She hoped Maggie would have the good sense to ignore him, but as it so happened, she didn't. Rounding on Merle, Maggie shot her middle finger up and in response, Merle fired his pistol at her. Andrea heard the report go off and stood shell-shocked, not daring to believe what had happened—but then she saw the walker fall behind Maggie. It had slipped into their ranks while Rick and Daryl had their eyes focused ahead, but at the back of the line, Merle had seen it and acted upon it.

Maggie's reaction was delayed as she stared at Merle for a few moments more and then slowly revolved on the spot to look down at the walker with a bullet settled just above its left eye. Even Andrea had to admit that given the circumstances with the fog, a moving target, distance, and hardly any light, Merle was a damn accurate shooter.

Rick, however, had not yet seen the walker, and snipped at Merle, "What the hell is your problem?"

"Walker, Rick," said Daryl, pointing out the body, "and I'll bet that shot just alerted every bastard within six miles. Let's move, c'mon."

They picked up the pace, something that Andrea, Beth, and Hershel found extremely difficult to manage over the uneven terrain. As time passed, the only factor working in their favor was the fact that patches of sunlight were splitting through the fog like a knife slicing through warm bread. At one point Hans and Beth nearly overtook Andrea and Michonne because Hans was actually carrying Beth piggy-back style and hardly sounding winded at all, but he brought the group to a halt when he saw Andrea struggling.

"Switch with me," he told Michonne. "I can support her more easily."

"Why?" Michonne demanded. "Because I'm a _woman_?"

"Because you're lagging. Let me help her."

Michonne seemed ready to duel Hans to the death for the right to support Andrea, but it was a fight none of them got to see, for at an urging from Rick, the group converged into a circle facing outward at the sound of moans. In the fog where sound was distorted, it was impossible to determine from which direction the sounds were coming from.

"I knew this would happen," said Merle in the eerie silence.

"Keep together, watch each other's backs," said Rick. "And stay with your partner. Carl—"

The first walker lunged out of the fog and startled, Hans lost his balance. As he hit the forest floor the walker fell on top of him, but Beth whacked it aside with her crutch and Milton finished it off with a quick jab to its ear. Andrea had no time to marvel at her friend's actions as three more walkers came in from the left and Michonne moved around to shield her. Another four appeared on the right.

"Do we run or make a stand?" Merle shouted.

"Hold, damn it, hold!" Rick replied, elbowing a walker aside to get to Daryl who was grappling with another.

Andrea tried to clear her head to see properly, but the fog made everything blur together so that it was nearly impossible to pick out her target. She raised her gun, watching a walker stalk inward. Carl was trying to shush Judith who had begun to wail.

_Focus._

Her first bullet hit the walker's neck with little reaction. She fired again and the walker went down. She felt cold sweat clinging to her forehead as she spun around to face the opposite direction. Michonne leapt into action, leaving her standing between Carl and Maggie who closed in around her. The katana glistened off the faint traces of sunlight breaking through the fog as Michonne sliced her blade through a walker's face.

"Rick, there's too many back here!" Milton hollered. "We can't hold!"

"This way and stick together!"

"Milton, go!" shouted Merle, pushing Milton between the shoulder blades to get him moving and grabbing Hershel's arm at the same time to drag him along. Andrea stumbled, turning to follow Maggie when a walker reached out and took hold of her wrist. She fired on instinct and the walker crumpled but in the confusion she tripped and struck her head on something sharp on the ground.

"Andrea!"

She raised her head and saw only the grayish-blue haze around her. In a few precious seconds she had lost the group. But one of them had seen her fall, right? She had heard someone call her name, so surely someone would double back for her? No, she couldn't rely on that. Wincing, she pushed herself onto her knees when she saw the walker inches from her face. She hardly had time to go for her fallen gun when a fire poker took it through the eyeball. Two hands grabbed her waist, pulling her to her feet and half-carrying her with every tenth stride. Only when she heard the labored breathing did she realize who had come back for her.

"You should have stayed with the group," she said groggily. "You'll never find them now."

"I got you back to them before, didn't I?" said Milton earnestly.

"You followed your tracks back. You could _see_…"

"With the proper mindset, I'm quite capable of doing this again. Stop being so negative."

Andrea kept her eyes on the side of his face, watching it swim in and out of focus as the hit to her head made its way downward into her stomach and sent a fresh wave of pain throughout her body. Contracting her nails in Milton's shoulder was all she could do to make him stop as she vomited spectacularly onto the ground. With an apologetic glance at Milton, she saw that he was turning green himself from the putrid smell.

"Let's just try to keep going."

"I can't…"

"Yes, you can. You were in a worse state when you came to Woodbury and you didn't have me then."

Slightly delirious she may be, but Andrea knew better than to point out that she would have been no better off if she had had Milton before Woodbury and that having him now was hardly doing her much good either. He was earnestly oblivious to his childlike demeanor in the face of danger and this act of bravado was solely for her, to keep her calm when he had to be terrified. All the same, unless he was planning on carrying her, she couldn't go on.

"Milton, I can't go anymore. You have to put me down."

"I'm not going to just leave you here."

"I'm not asking you to; I'm just asking that you don't make me go any further."

"But—"

Andrea saw the silhouette emerging from the fog behind Milton and lifted her numb arm to fire, when—

"No, wait, don't shoot!"

She was lying to herself if she admitted that she hadn't been hoping to hear a Dixon instead of Hans. He looked twice as small standing alone in the embrace of the fog and without Beth.

"Where's Beth?" asked Milton.

"This way," said Hans, taking the lead as he hooked Andrea's other arm around his shoulders and helped Milton carry her. How he knew which direction he was going when Andrea couldn't even tell how far away her feet were from her face was a marvel, but it could not have been far to where he left Beth, for in a few short minutes they came to a dirt wall with a grassy overhang.

"Beth, it's me!" Hans called in a harsh whisper and no sooner had he spoken that the young woman appeared, aiming lopsidedly as she leaned on her crutch. She hugged Andrea and then pulled her in closer to the wall so that she at least had something to lean against. Wordlessly, Beth resumed her aim as Hans took up position on her right and Milton settled in on Andrea's left.

"What-," began Milton, but Hans shushed him, pointing ahead and Andrea saw what looked like a shoulder moving bodilessly in front of them. Then she saw a leg trudge past…then a head.

It was a herd, stalking towards an unknown and unseen target as Andrea and the others stood invisible only because of the fog. Unmoving, they were safe, but if one walker chanced to look sideways and see them, the entire horde would be on them and though they did not have to worry about guarding their backs, there was no escape route if they were cornered. The four of them pressed themselves against the dirt wall, holding their breaths as the horde passed by, stepping in and out of the fog. Andrea lowered her gun, located Milton's hand and squeezed it, surprised to find that this time he was squeezing back with enough force to cut off the circulation in her fingers. On her right Beth found her other hand and grasped it.

With Andrea and Beth injured, Milton inadequate with a weapon, and Hans inexperienced, the odds did not appear to favor them at the moment and Andrea anticipated the moment the herd would realize that four highly edible humans were within feet of them.


	16. Chapter 16: Loose Grip

**MERLE**

Having a grudge-holding prick as a travel buddy while carrying a baby was one thing, but having that same grudge-holding prick's girlfriend as his lost-in-dense-fog-and-trailed-by-biters buddy was more than Merle was willing to cope with. Merle had made sure that Daryl and Rick had a good hold on the old man and that Carl was on his father's heels before he and Maggie turned around to cover their escape but inside of three seconds, they were lost. Somewhere before handing Hershel off, Merle had seen Hans and Beth disappear right in front of him. As for the others, it was difficult to tell.

"I thought you had your eye on them," said Maggie accusingly and though she was standing right beside him, Merle could hardly hear her since the fog distorted sound waves.

"What?"

"I said I thought you were keeping tabs on them!" she said again in a harsh whisper.

Still not quite understanding what she was saying, Merle nodded and said, "Yeah," and then moved forward at a sideways prowl, keeping his weapon trained on the left and front as Maggie guarded the right and back. Every time she brushed against him, he had to remind himself that it was her and not a biter and several times he came close to nearly stabbing her until finally he had to shove her hard with his arm to put some distance between the two of them.

"Will y'cut that shit out?"

"What?"

"Stop bumpin' me."

"What?"

"Oh, for Chrissake, woman. I said—"

"Shhh!"

Maggie slapped her hand across Merle's mouth and he swatted it away in the same moment, but he got the message as Maggie motioned that the two of them back up and keep their eyes forward. They stepped back in unison, retreating several paces before Merle felt his heel strike thin air and he grabbed Maggie's sleeve to make her stop before the two of them fell straight down about ten feet. Now that they had nowhere to go, Merle motioned ahead with his appendage as if to ask, _Is it coming from that way?_

It was Maggie's turn to shrug. In truth, neither of them could tell which direction the biters' moans were coming from; at one point Maggie had sensed that the biters were in front of them, but now that they had brought themselves to a drop off, it sounded as if the biters were coming from behind. Knowing that the biters couldn't reach them from behind, both Merle and Maggie knelt down, scoping their weapons in a wide arc as they listened, trying to pick out a telltale sign to at least give them a sense of direction.

They waited…and waited…and then felt a thud in the ground beneath them. Wondering if they were in fact standing on a bit of earth that was about to give way, Merle attempted to move when Maggie gestured frantically below them and Merle saw the top of four heads: two blonde ponytails and two mousy brown mats of hair.

Maggie made a whisper that Merle was sure would carry to gain the attention of those below, but when that didn't work, she thumped her hand on the side of the dirt wall in the hopes that the vibration would carry down to the others. Hans was the first to notice, tilting his head up and squinting at Merle and Maggie to try and decipher if they were biters or humans. When he realized that help had come, he gestured towards what Merle could only see as the horde milling past them just feet away. Silently, Hans alerted the others who all then signified wanting Merle and Maggie to hoist them up. Milton brought Andrea to the forefront to be lifted out first, but Maggie shook her head and pointed to Beth. Rolling his eyes, Merle elbowed her hard, giving her a glare that said quite clearly that she was not allowed to be selective in this survival situation. Andrea was clearly in the worst shape and so Merle and Maggie hauled her up first, though it took a few tense moments to work out a system so that they would not make a sound, not move any more than necessary, and not drop her. When Andrea had been secured safely between them, Maggie left Merle to lift the other three by himself at least until someone else could keep an eye on Andrea and their backs and so Merle purposely selected Beth since she was the lightest and would require the least amount of strength to lift on her own. Hans and Milton had to hoist her onto their shoulders while avoiding her bad knee and even then she was too short for Merle to grab, so she had to hold onto her crutch and Merle leaned back with his hand on the other end. Maggie sat on the bit of crutch that had come up over the side of the drop off, allowing Merle to grab Beth by her collar and drag her the last few feet to safety.

Hans went next simply because he was smaller than Milton and because Milton could support him much easier than if the short man tried to hold Milton up on his shoulders. He may not have looked it, but Milton had some weight to separate him from Hans. Milton allowed Hans to stand on his knees and then, using the wall as a support, climb atop his shoulders. Merle coiled his arm around Hans's and lifted him almost as easily as he did Beth, but Hans's foot struck a bit of loose gravel which cascaded down onto Milton, causing a giant crashing sound.

Biters turned towards the sound of the commotion and Milton flattened himself against the dirt wall, gaping in terror.

"Get him out of there!" Andrea screamed.

"Miltie, I'mma count t'two and if you ain't grabbed hold by then, I'm leavin' you. One…"

Milton kicked at the biter that had lunged for him and grabbed the wall, using whatever footholes he could find as he scrambled upward towards Merle's hand. Merle seized his bony wrist and used all of the strength left in his arm, but he hadn't anticipated how heavy Milton would be to bodily lift with just one hand. He knew he was going to drop him right back down into the pit with the biters; he was going to hear Milton's screams almost instantly along with Andrea's pleas, but there was nothing he could do. He felt condensation on Milton's skin from the fog as it mingled with the effort-induced sweat rolling from between Merle's knuckles. Milton slipped a centimeter and looked up straight at Merle.

His glasses slightly obscured his eyes with a fug mixture from the cold fog and Milton's sweaty face, but he knew what Merle was about to do and there was a bland acceptance there. For someone who had given everything his weakened body had to offer, Milton had recognized his fate and instead of struggling to try and save himself and possibly pull Merle over with him, he had made peace with Merle's decision.

_You sure?_ Merle asked him wordlessly with a raise of his eyebrows.

Milton nodded.

"Hold him, I'm coming!" Beth called and she crawled on her good knee, throwing her upper body over the edge of the drop off and Merle felt her close one hand over his while the other wrapped around the flap of Milton's collar.

"Don't let go of him."

Beth weighed less than half of what Milton did. She had nothing to contribute.

"Don't let go," said Hans, joining the tug of war game with Milton and gravity. "Just hold him, Merle. Whatever you do, _hold_…" Hans put his arms around Merle's waist, bent at the knees and started dragging him backwards with the friction of his heels in the mud alone. Amazingly, the system started to work and in moments, Milton's entire arm had cleared the drop off. Beth gripped Milton's shoulder in an enormous bear hug to prevent him from slipping back over the side, as if she really expected that to help. Milton drove his fingernails into the mud, clawing his way forward as Hans continued to back up.

"Nearly there," said Hans. "Don't drop him now."

"I can't," said Merle, which was true, for Beth had now wrapped herself around Merle and Milton's arms to strengthen the grip as Milton's upper body became entirely visible.

"I'm going to go grab him, just stay perfectly still," said Hans and let go of Merle to help Milton wriggle his lower body into place.

A shot went off close to Merle's head and though he thanked the fog for preventing him from going deaf, he was still startled and his grip finally slipped. With no more tension pulling him forward, his body flopped back into the mud so that he could see the biter descending on him from upside down. Beth shot it in the teeth and Merle just managed to roll aside as it fell right down onto the spot he been seconds before. As Merle tried to regain his feet, Milton ran past him and tackled another biter that was close enough to grab either Merle or Andrea. Milton punctured its skull with his knife twice and would have gone in for another stab if Merle hadn't hauled his ass back into the safety of the group.

"Stay together, dammit—"

"Where do you we go now?" asked Beth. "There's walkers below and behind us and more coming in after they heard our gunshots."

"How good are y'all at climbin' trees?"

"We run for it," said Hans. "The sun's on the rise now and we were headed east. Head for the sunlight in a straight line and do not let go of the person in front of you. Merle, carry Andrea. Milton and I will get Beth and Maggie will guard the rear. Single file now, and quick."

Hans helped Merle drape Andrea across his shoulders so that he could still hold his automatic and run. Merle tried to make out the actual sun and not just light being bounced around in this fog apocalypse and once he had a good idea, he took off. Milton and Hans must have been sprinting with Beth as if she were the football late in the fourth quarter because they were keeping up with him and he had run over terrain like this with heavy loads before, so Andrea was close to nothing. He could, however, hear Milton wheezing and had half a mind to tell the four-eyed wonder to can it, especially after nearly dislocating Merle's arm from its socket, but he saved his breath until his feet hit asphalt and he came to a sudden halt so that Milton ran straight into him. Merle tried to throw Andrea's weight back, but the shove had propelled him far enough that he was in danger of dropping her and face-planting.

Milton grabbed the sweat-stained shirt at the small of Merle's back and reeled him back in. Before Merle could snap at him, the sounds of biters closing in alerted them to the fact that even though they had a road now to follow north, they did not have a working car to escape in at a moment's notice.

"Everyone, into the cars, quick," said Maggie. "Get in and lie down." She, Hans, and Beth climbed into a van, leaving Merle to fend for the other two.

Merle tossed Andrea unceremoniously into the back seat of a convertible and then climbed in after Milton who had sunk as far down towards the pedals as he could. Merle's passenger side had an old towel stuffed in the top of the window, so that when he pulled the door shut, they were almost completely hidden from view of the biters.

"Keep quiet back there, Blondie," Merle said in a barely audible voice.

"She hit her head pretty badly," said Milton. "It'll need tending to—"

"Not right this second, Miltie. We gotta stay quiet and still when that herd comes through."

"But the others—"

"If the others were followin' Daryl, they'll've reached the road a long time ago and either headed north t'look for a workin' car, or they're holed up nearby, waitin' for us. 'F the ol' man made it, he'll look after your girlfriend in a bit."

"_Hershel_ would want Andrea's head wrapped up straight away," said Milton scathingly.

"Then you climb back there'n wrap it, and God help you if y'make the tiniest move t'rouse the biters. I'll eat you alive first."

"That joke was in bad taste. Don't even poke fun at things like that."

"It's called humor, Miltie, you wouldn't understand; you ain't got no sense've what humor is."

"Why didn't you drop me?" Milton queried.

"Huh?"

"You were about to drop me. I saw it, I acknowledged it, and I was prepared for it, but as soon as Beth stepped in, you kept your hold on me."

"Y'know, you ask really awkward questions at the worst times, boy. Are you complainin' that I didn't leave your ass t'the biters?"

"No, but—"

"Then shut the hell up. 'F I'dda dropped you right then'n there, it wouldda looked like I let go just for the hell've it. Believe me, I wanted t'leave you as bait while we bailed, but I couldn't once the others were watchin'."

"So you only do something morally correct if you think you're being observed or if you think doing the opposite will eventually leave you in hot water with them?"

"Miltie, hear them biters outside? They'll be swarmin' past the car any second now, and unless you want me bootin' you right out that door into their path, y'put a lid on it, safety pin it, superglue it, staple it, and weld it shut, got me?"

Milton covered his head with his hands as he curled into the fetal position under the steering wheel while Merle tried to make his enormous form as small as possible with the sounds of biters bumping into the side of the car just inches away from him, separated by a few sheets of metal and blood-stained glass.


	17. Chapter 17: Setbacks

**MILTON**

Out of unnecessary habit, Milton timed events and if his watch could still be relied upon, he, Merle and Andrea had been crouching in the car for well over an hour and yet the sounds of the dead did not seem to grow any fainter as the convertible continued to jostle every time one of the biters brushed against it. Andrea had torn a sleeve from her shirt to wrap her head and was sipping at water to stay hydrated while Milton pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his sweaty nose for the forty-eighth time. His cramped legs were at the point now where he felt that if he didn't stretch them out, he would scream. Merle did not seem bothered by anything, though, as he sat picking flecks of blood off of his blade attachment.

Outside, a biter that had knocked into the car seemed to take an interest in it and started scrabbling at the peeling paint job, its fingernails raking the metal so that Milton had to grind his teeth together to try and blot out the sound. He repositioned himself to cover his ears, but the cramps in his legs protested and mounted in pain. Trying to signal to Merle that he had to do something to stretch it out, Milton reached across the stick and prodded him, but Merle was now eyeing the spot where the scratching was coming from.

"Merle," Milton whispered.

Merle checked the ammunition in his clip for the nineteenth time, ignoring Milton, but Milton needed relief and he needed it now. He made a soft snap with his fingers and whispered to Merle again who purposefully turned away to face the window.

"Dammit, Merle, I have a cramp," Milton said urgently.

"Deal with it."

"I have been for over an hour and I can't stand it anymore. I need to either stretch or shout."

"You do either and I'll gutchoo."

"I have to do something—"

"You haveta shut up."

"I'll make a run for it."

"You won't make it."

"Then I'll scream and we'll all be in trouble."

"Herd's lettin' up, wait for a bit longer."

"I'm going now—"

"_Shhhh!_" hissed Andrea, "listen…"

There were grunts from outside, but they sounded human and whoever it was, they were trying to keep their voices down so that the majority of the herd wouldn't hear them. The biters near the car turned their attention to this new distraction, but the people outside dispatched them quickly and Milton could see a shadow move over the towel in Merle's window. As one, Milton, Merle, and Andrea cocked their guns.

"Anyone in here?"

Merle's door was thrown open and there stood Rick, covered in biter blood with his bangs hanging over into his eyes. He wiped some of the blood from his whiskers in relief as he registered who was in the car.

"Mornin', Officer Rick," said Merle conversationally, but before they could exchange more than that, Milton pulled the handle to his own door, flung himself out, and began kicking his legs every which way to allow feeling to come back into them that wasn't all cramp. As he rolled around in the grass, he heard Rick call Daryl over and the younger Dixon swore.

"No more front'n back've the line for you'n me, bro. I'm sick've losin' your sorry ass all the time."

"You always got a good thing goin' on, lil' brother, you got Officer Rick and the Sword Master with you while I get to babysit artificial lungs over there in the grass and the rest've the cripples."

"Not the rest," said Rick. "We have Hershel, Carl, and Judith. Where are the others?"

"Van," said Merle vaguely, moving to help Andrea out of the back seat. "Miltie, I think y'left enough've your scent, come on outta the grass now'n help."

Milton walked unevenly towards the convertible, climbed back in, and assisted Andrea from behind so that Merle could pull her out. After she had been helped, Merle slammed the door on Milton so that he had to go back out the long way. With an insult on his tongue, Milton came around to project some hostile feelings towards Merle when he saw Rick hold out his arms for Beth near the van.

"Do you need some help?" he called.

"No, we got it," said Rick shortly.

Shuffling his feet, Milton leaned against the car as Michonne gave Andrea a quick check. The group gathered and Rick motioned to the north, explaining that they had found a bus in working order and spare fuel and that Hershel was waiting in it with the children since Rick, Daryl, and Michonne had decided to come back down the road and wait for Milton's party.

"It's not far, let's go."

With Rick leading, Merle and Daryl each took one of the limping women, leaving Milton, Hans, Maggie, and Michonne to trudge in their wake. About a mile and a half later, they were greeted by Hershel who was once again overcome with emotion to see his daughters, particularly Maggie whom he had scolded on last interaction, but Maggie didn't seem to mind.

"Hans saved me," Beth told her father. "He carried me through the fog and then went back for the others. Then Maggie and Merle found us."

"The two of you continue to amaze me," said Hershel warmly to Merle and Hans, and though Milton was not childish enough to pout that he had not been praised, he felt oddly singled out as if the group had already given up on him as the weak one, as if the day's events had confirmed it.

"How's the lungs, son?" asked Hershel, to which Milton shrugged. Looking concerned, Hershel leaned in closer. "You okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

Hershel did not look at all convinced, but as there was a need to be on the move, he said nothing and motioned that Milton should climb aboard the bus. Milton, however, made the older man get on first and then let Daryl put Beth next to her father. Maggie stood on the first step, seemingly unwilling to go any further and those still behind her knew why as her fingers curled around the door frame and she hung her head, shoulders trembling. Only when Hans put his hand gently on the small of her back did she move. The two sat beside one another near the front, but far from taking comfort at the sign of an emotional healing, Milton headed for the back of the bus. When Merle climbed on, he looked peeved as if the back was his unspoken territory, so he chose an empty seat in the middle with his back facing the window so he could prop up his legs and take a nap.

At Andrea's request, Michonne set Andrea down beside Milton because the back seat was the longest so that Andrea could spread out. After ensuring that Andrea was comfortable, Michonne gave Milton a small nod and went back up front to assist Rick with navigation.

"I think you've grown on her," said Andrea with a small smile, watching Michonne help Carl rifle through Judith's baby bag for a fresh diaper.

"It's possible, though I don't know what for since I haven't done anything to earn that respect," said Milton, staring at a lone biter on the road as Rick got the bus moving.

"You're still with us, still one of us. Getting lost in the fog didn't change that."

"Didn't help it either. Twice today I could have caused the death of one of you and both times it was because I haven't adapted as you all have."

"Hans hasn't adapted either, but he finds ways to contribute. You're valuable manpower, Milton, stop downgrading yourself. You came back for me, remember? If you hadn't, no one would have found me and a walker would still be searching through my stomach looking for spare guts. If anyone's weighing the group down, it's me. I need a long time to recover, which I can't achieve if we're constantly on the move, so a place to hold up for a while is the only thing that will help me now. You just need a breather now and then."

"I'd always come back for you," said Milton earnestly. "You're the one companion I have who fully trusts me."

"Honestly, Milton, I think everyone in the group—give or take Merle—trusts you now. You've had so many opportunities to go back, to find Phillip, to even cut yourself loose and try to make it on your own, but you've stayed and not just because you think you'd be helpless on your own. You care about these people. When you first came with me, you flinched any time someone touched you and now, you've let more people hold onto you for support than you ever did in Woodbury. You may have felt safe in Woodbury, but you belong with us. We're your people now."

"I hope so," said Milton, aware of how childishly wistful he sounded, but Andrea intertwined her fingers with his, warned him that she was going to rest her head on his shoulder, and did so.

"Wake up, Miltie."

If there was one thing Milton did not want to see in the last bit of daylight, it was Merle hanging over the back of the seat in front of Milton and poking him with his finger. Milton tried to swat at Merle's hand, but when the latter saw he had successfully woken Milton, he sat back out of reach.

"You gotta come help us clear the road."

"Why…wasswrong?" asked Milton groggily.

"It's blocked, dumbass, why else? Getcher gun and let's go."

At first, Milton feared that it was a herd of biters that needed clearing, but as he neared the front of the bus after gently extracting himself from underneath Andrea, he saw that it was more of a roadblock made of a six car pileup. Rick, Daryl, Michonne, Hans, Maggie, and now Milton and Merle divided the workload into teams.

"We do this quick before we lose the light because I don't want to turn on the bus's headlights unless we have to. Maggie, you stand watch on this end; your dad and Carl have the other side. Hans, at the wheel of this green one."

Hans turned the wheel left to veer the car off the road as Milton, Merle, Daryl, Rick, and Michonne pushed. Their combined strength sent the car into the ditch in no time, but it still left five cars to go and the light was fading fast. The work was not quiet either, and Milton knew that a biter or two would be stalking by due to the noise. He took the wheel of the next car.

By the time they had two cars left, he was sweating in the rapidly dropping temperature and his back was aching. There was only a faint blue color sitting atop the trees in the west to work by, and so Rick brought out the last two or three flashlights the group had. Milton got into position behind the second-to-last car when his peripheral vision picked up movement on his right. He threw himself backward and crawled under the car, but the biter followed him. Fumbling for his belt where his knife sat, Milton swung his legs around so that he was facing the biter and as the thing reached for his shoulder to drag him in and take a chunk out of his nose, Milton jabbed the knife into the biter's skull. He felt flecks of blood splatter his face and his heart began to race.

He heard the others dealing with a few more biters in quick fashion and then heard Michonne calling his name just loud enough to carry a few yards. Shaking, Milton dragged his upper body out from under the car, saying, "Here," to avoid getting a bullet in the head.

Daryl shined the light on him, throwing his bloody face into greater relief. "You bit?"

"No. It's biter blood."

"Well, git out from under there so we can move it."

"Okay."

Milton started to crawl the rest of the way out when Merle pulled him upright, thumped him on the back, and snapped at him to take the wheel again.

_He's a strange one, _he thought to himself, watching Merle's silhouette move to the back of the car.


	18. Chapter 18: Groverfield

**ANDREA**

By the third day of endless driving, Milton's shoulder had become the most comfortable pillow Andrea could find on the bus as she cat-napped at Hershel's insistence. Of the several dozen cars they passed, Rick let them get out and search for supplies at most of them since winter essentials like blankets and coats were scarce among the group. The nights were nearly unbearable on the bus so much that some people had to huddle together for warmth which meant that most of them slept shivering. Rick, Carl, and Judith were one unit with the Greene family making up another, occasionally accompanied by Hans, but Michonne, Merle, and Daryl spent the majority of their time hunting or on guard duty atop the bus which left Andrea to hope that Milton wouldn't shrink away in the middle of the night and leave her frozen to her seat. While he didn't encourage her contact, he let her rest against him for warmth and for that she was grateful.

On the fourth morning, the bus was already moving by the time Andrea awoke and the others were sharing the catch of chipmunk that Daryl and Merle had brought in, but Milton was still seated beside her. She tested her injured hip and yawned, blinking in the sunlight.

"Morning," said Milton just as he had the past three mornings.

"You could have just set my head down on the seat; I probably would have slept through it," said Andrea as she scooted sideways so that Milton could walk freely up the aisle.

"It's fine; I didn't sleep much last night so I just went back to sleep once the bus got going again. I do need to urinate, though."

"You'll have to hold it until Rick pulls over," said Michonne, bringing two napkins full of charred chipmunk to Andrea and Milton.

Accepting her share with less of a queasy stomach than yesterday, Andrea picked through the tiny bones as Michonne and Milton struck up conversation about what Hershel had been teaching him. As uncomfortable as he may be with human contact and bodily fluids, Milton spoke of everything Hershel had pointed out to him with the same enthusiasm he had when talking about his experiments in his lab at Woodbury.

Suddenly Rick slammed on the brakes and nearly everyone went flying into the seat in front of them except for Merle who had been standing in the aisle and got thrown the length of the bus so that when they came to a full stop, he swore at the top of his lungs at Rick.

"Dammit all t'hell, y'dumbass! 'Choo go hittin' the brakes when there's people up walkin' around? Y'almost killed me! The hell'd you stop for?"

"_Groverfield: Gated Community,_" said Rick, reading off of a bronze sign along the road. "Gated community; we should have a look."

"It's one've the first places I'd raid, so I don't think there's gonna be much there," said Merle as he observed the sign.

"Not for the supplies, idiot, for security," said Daryl, peering out the window to try and see the community from the road. "If it's small enough, we could hold it, make it home for a while. After the prison, I don't think we can settle for anything that don't got a fence or wall."

"We'll pull the bus over, have Maggie keep watch over the wounded and the rest've us will go check it out," said Rick.

"Excuse me, the wounded?" Andrea repeated. "I've been able to walk just fine for a few days now and I can be of some help."

"You're still mending," said Hershel. "If anyone've us is qualified to rejoin the scouting group, it's Carl, not you. He can run, he can move fast, and he can hold a gun, something you, Beth, and me can't say for ourselves."

"And I'm not sitting here just 'cause you think I'm suicidal," said Maggie, staring Rick down. "I'm fine, Rick. I'm coming with you."

"But someone who can run needs to stay behind to carry Judith just in case."

"I will," Milton volunteered to the surprise of all, but Rick shot down the offer.

"No, I need you on the scouting party with the rest've us. But Andrea's right; someone who can run needs to have Judith. Carl, you stay here with Hershel and Beth—"

"I'm more useful to you—" began Carl.

"You fire two shots in succession if you get into trouble and we'll come runnin' back. Conserve your ammo, hide if you need to, but don't go far from the bus unless it's herd of walkers. You've gotta protect your sister, okay? Hershel's in charge; listen to him and please don't follow us. We'll be back in an hour."

"But what if you're not?" asked Beth.

"Then keep on driving."

( )

"Looks clear," said Merle as he returned from the walls that blocked Groverfield in. "Hole in one wall; someone either rammed something heavy into it, or there was an explosion, but if we build it back up, ain't no way a biter's gettin' through."

"Alright, we do this in teams, take one house at a time. Search it, clear it, mark the door, then move on. We gotta do this fast in case there's anyone else hangin' around in there. Maggie Michonne, and Hans with me, Daryl, you take the others. Same thing here if you get into trouble: two shots, otherwise you keep the silencers on. Use knives and axes first. Move like we did in the fog; someone always guardin' the back. Try to keep it to five minutes a house."

Michonne did not look at all reluctant to leave Andrea this time, perhaps because she now considered Milton and Merle to be enough manpower to protect her. Happy though she was to have Milton in sight, Andrea felt that it would have been less stressful to just leave him back at the bus. He got in a lucky shot now and then, but he was as inept as ever and the Dixons were not likely to be understanding if Milton's clumsiness got them into trouble. They broke left once they passed through the giant hole in the wall and almost immediately there was a walker inside. Daryl took it out with his crossbow, snatched up the arrow, and kept moving to the closest house. Andrea had been in worse pain and traveled faster and farther, so she made no sound at the light jog the Dixons were keeping them at, but she was also quite glad when they reached the first house.

Merle motioned that she should be rear guard and stick with Milton while he and Daryl checked the upstairs. Daryl peered in through the stained glass window and then put up two fingers before kicking in the door. He and Merle dispatched the walkers inside, but quickly backed out again and hammered on the doorframe to attract any more walkers in the house. There was a thud from upstairs, but no walker came down, signifying that it must be stuck. Andrea and Milton stayed on the main floor as the Dixons headed up the spiral staircase.

Snapping to get Milton's attention, Andrea pointed to the sitting room and they moved forward, looking in corners and behind doors for any living residents, but they found nothing. Another thud upstairs told them that the Dixons had found and taken care of the walker and by the time the brothers came back down, Andrea and Milton had cleared the main floor.

The next house was empty, as was the third, but the fourth had five walkers milling around in a hidden room behind the refrigerator. Milton had nearly impaled himself on his own knife when a walker knocked him over, but Andrea bashed its brains in with a bottle, squirting vintage 1913 cognac all over the Prussian carpet. Rick, Maggie, Michonne, and Hans met them at the last house because the rest of their houses had been empty. After finding eight walkers inside, Andrea was thankful for the help, and they cleared out the house with no casualties or mishaps.

"Michonne, you and Hans stay here, keep everything in order," said Rick once they had finished their sweep. "The rest've us will go get the others."

"No, have Milton stay here with me," said Michonne. "He needs a breather."

Milton looked grateful, but also embarrassed at Michonne's kindness.

( )

It was a large area to cover, but with the walls at eight feet and three exits including the hole at the north end, Andrea felt that they at least had a place to feel secure—provided that they could guard the entire community with only eleven of them. If Rick and Carl shared a house, that left exactly one whole house to each of them if cabin fever reached a point that would make them all want to separate from each other, but Andrea wondered if perhaps they might knock down the other houses to fortify the walls and exits. With so few of them to guard such a wide area, Rick would not be too keen on bringing outsiders in, so there was no use keeping so many houses, especially if they provided cover for anyone sneaking in.

"If you wanna help clear tomorrow, you'd best rest up," said Hershel to Andrea as he lowered himself onto the couch beside Beth whose leg was propped up on pillows. "The house is secure now and we've got a rotating guard. You can sleep easy."

Andrea pulled her blanket up to her chest as Rick doused the lights and took up first watch. Michonne gave her an encouraging smile before closing her eyes and within minutes, nearly the entire group was asleep. Behind her, Andrea could feel and hear Milton twitching in his sleep, which she tried to ignore until it grew more frantic and she slowly rolled over to see his face contorted in either pain or fear. On Milton's other side Daryl sat up with his knife at the ready, but Andrea waved him off and then cautiously placed her hand atop Milton's head. Like a mother patting her child's head to reassure them of danger passed, Andrea ran her fingers through his hair until his face relaxed, his body untensed, and he went still and quiet.

The sound of fabric rustling brought her back to awareness after she had fallen asleep with her hand still on Milton's head. She squinted in the darkness to see Merle standing by the living room door trying to put on a warmer shirt for his upcoming shift. With no light to guide him, though, he was having a hard time of it and it wasn't until the moon finally broke through the clouds high above that he was able to see what he was doing. He unruffled the shirt and with his back turned to her, Andrea could see angry hash marks criss-crossing over his skin like someone had taken a belt to him at a young age and the marks had stretched as he grew into his body.

"Are those from before or after?" asked Andrea softly.

Merle paused with his change of shirt in hand and replied in a low, warning voice, "Look away."

Andrea got up, careful to step over Milton and then Daryl until she was in safe proximity to Merle. He must have not heard her approach, for when he turned around, he gave a small start which quickly turned to disgust. When he attempted to maneuver himself around her to finish changing in the sitting room, she blocked him off with her arm, but fixed her face to look non-confrontational.

"Did Phillip do to that to you, Merle?"

"How many times diddee stick 'is dick in you?" asked Merle. Andrea blanched and Merle nodded with savage triumph. "Yeah, that ain't a question I'd wanna answer either, so don't go askin' stupid shit that's personal, got it, Blondie?"

"So it wasn't Phillip," Andrea guessed. Merle stepped in close to her as was custom when he felt threatened. However, given that his baby brother was asleep at their feet and the house was full of witnesses, he could do nothing to her, but that didn't stop him from trying to intimidate her enough to make her back down.

"Lemme tell ya something Miss Psychiatrist, if you ain't noticed by now, I don't share no personal information, even for the ladies, so I'mma give you one more chance t'drop it, huh?"

"I've seen Daryl's."

"Then why the fuck'd y'ask me where I got 'em?" Merle demanded.

Andrea pointed a finger at him as if to say, _gotcha_. "Because I wanted you to confirm where they came from. And having someone look at those doesn't take away your manhood anymore than telling them about a childhood memory does. You promised Rick that you would do your best to get along with us and while that doesn't involve spilling your deepest secrets, it would help if you did more than make sexual innuendos and threats."

"Well, the subject you chose t'talk 'bout t'night's a little too close t'home, baby, so try again with some new material tomorrow."

Once again he tried to dodge her, but this time she put a firm hand to his bare chest. His skin was hot, flushed with boiling anger, but she touched her other hand to his fingertips and found them icy cold. All of his self-control was dedicated to keeping himself calm under stress, but in that moment Andrea realized that Merle and Milton were not so different in their loathing of physical touch. To Milton it was foreign and dangerous but to Merle it was all too familiar and painful to recollect. They both secretly yearned for it, but since they feared and hated it, they were prone to go into defensive mode whenever someone tried to reason with them. Hershel and Beth had managed to get through to Milton to some degree but the only person Andrea had seen Merle make physical contact with was the baby and ever since bringing her back to the cabin, he had refused to touch her, even when she was clearly crying for him specifically to hold her. Someone else had to attempt to break his wall.

"Not everyone is out to get you, you know."

"If you'dda told me that before the world went t'shit, I mighta believed you," said Merle with an unwilling half-smirk. "'F'you'dda been there fifty years ago t'tell me that when I got these marks, y'mighta saved somebody a lotta pain."

"Let me try now. Just—don't move, okay?"

Andrea raised her hand to show Merle that there was no weapon in it and then ever so slowly so that he could see what she was doing by the candlelight, she placed her palm against his cheek, leaving it in place so that he could feel the gentle touch and recognize it as kindness. It was like training an infant to respond warmly to a comforting gesture, only she had never been so anxious as to how an infant would react when touched as she was now with a full-grown man. Merle would not look at her, keeping his eyes down and to the right, but his arms rested at his sides. After half a minute, Andrea put her other hand on the other side of his face. He still stiffened under her fingers, but he let her continue until finally, she sensed that it was time to give him his space.

"See? Some of us still know how to be gentle, even you, otherwise you would never have brought that baby back alive. Make sure to wake Maggie up for her turn; don't be the hero and take the full watch."

She went to return to her place on the floor when Merle grasped her wrist in his hand, held it for a moment, and then let her go with the tiniest jerk of his head. As she lay back down between Milton and Michonne, she saw Merle slip on the warmer shirt and deliberate before going out onto the roof to stand guard.

"What was that about?" asked Milton with his eyes still closed.

"Don't worry about it, just go back to sleep," said Andrea.

"I was, but then your foot touched me when you stepped over me."

"Would you like me to stroke your hair and sing you a lullaby?" asked Andrea teasingly, but realized that Milton was already out cold. Still, she touched him across his brow, smiling to herself as she let sleep take her at last.


	19. Chapter 19: Together

**MERLE  
**Though they were all used to sleeping in close quarters, one house was not large enough to accommodate everyone as far as personal space was concerned, and so the two families, both Grimes and Greene, chose the house nearest to the center of the community with the secret wine cellar and Merle and the others took up residence in the one right across from them with an overlook of the outside. Merle's house had two stories not including the basement which had been finished to resemble a movie theater. There were two bedrooms in the basement as well which Hans and Michonne occupied while Merle, Daryl, Milton, and Andrea were left to pick and choose from the three upstairs rooms and the master bedroom. Milton and Andrea chose the rooms with an adjoining Jack and Jill bathroom so that Merle and Daryl had to duke it out as to who would own the master bedroom.

Daryl didn't look too keen on the idea of fighting his brother over anything as trifle as a bedroom when they had shared much less and much more, even sharing a twin bed when Daryl was small enough, so Merle claimed the master and all of its luxuries. In truth, though, Merle only wanted his own toilet to spend many long hours puking into it after getting shit-faced multiple times.

For the first week or so, Merle would awake and creep across the hall to the loft which had a view of the other house to see Rick or Maggie on patrol from the porch on top of having another guard from Merle's house. However, as the days went by, they were back to one guard at a time, swapping shifts throughout the night and staking out in the attic of another house that had good vantage points for all sides of the community. Merle and Daryl were teaching Hans to hunt and occasionally Carl tagged along while the others built up fortifications behind the hole in the wall and scavenged for more supplies. Andrea was well on the mend and eagerly contributing however she could, which mostly involved babysitting Judith and rationing food. Everyone pulled their weight as best they could, including Milton who was getting to be top hand under Hershel's tutelage and proved it when Michonne returned from a run with a nasty gash across her arm.

And yet, Merle had never felt more exposed. There simply was not enough manpower to protect the community, however small, and if someone wanted to take the place, they wouldn't have a hard time of doing it. The community was well sheltered among the trees, yet that sword was double-sided, for it meant that prying eyes could see them and they would never know. Where Woodbury had been well-stocked with people, weapons, and supplies, Groverfield had less of everything and greater odds. Where the prison had sat atop a hill with several sets of gated barricades and a maze of cells to navigate or hide in, Groverfield had exposed houses. The biters were not a problem unless they amounted to the herd that had sent Merle scurrying up the tree with Judith, which left human enemies as the main reason Merle took shifts as often as he could. He didn't trust anyone but Daryl to keep a close enough eye on things at night.

He spent as much time as possible outside of the house because being cooped up behind any wall made him feel like he was back in the slammer. The only disadvantage of being outside was that he was subject to constant interrogation from Carl about how to fight in a style his father couldn't teach him. After Carl had found him trying to catch up on sleep in one of the reading nooks the houses offered, Merle marched him back outside and motioned to the community around him.

"Y'got all this space t'practice what I already showed you, but y'still wanna come'n bother me every two minutes. I'm beat, kid, so leave me alone."

"Carl," called Rick, ambling over to them with Judith placed on his hip. "Merle's right; leave him alone. You don't need any more fightin' lessons anyway. Go tell Hershel that I want you to learn first aid with Milton."

Once the boy had gone, Merle suddenly became aware of how very full his bladder was and he made to go off and urinate, but Rick held him back, kicking grass at his feet in an awkward silence.

"What's up, Officer Rick? I gotta take a piss."

"At the cabin—I didn't say anythin' when you brought my daughter back and I should have. Thank you—for her, for Carl, for the group. I had my doubts about you—big doubts—even when I accepted you into the group in front've the Governor. I thought that you'd let out the first chance you got and bullshit your way through one death after another, but you stuck around'n put yourself at risk for nearly everyone. I never wouldda expected that outta you, but you proved me wrong. If it means anythin' now, you've earned your place and my respect."

"Well, I'm tickled pink, but I really gotta take a leak now, so if you've finished, I'm off t'water the trees."

"Merle," said Rick sharply. "I mean it. Thank you."

Never one to warmly accept any thanks, Merle jerked his head and then, knowing he wouldn't make it to the powder room inside, ran for the tree beside the house. When he finished, he zipped up his pants, only to hear Daryl scoff from the porch.

"And what're you sneerin' at?"

"You can't just accept gratitude, can you? You gotta act like you're above takin' thanks from anybody. Wouldn't hurt you t'just say 'you're welcome'."

"I got my pride to think about, lil' brother."

"It ain't no sting t'your pride to say 'you're welcome'. It was a bigger sting t'Rick's pride in sayin' that he was grateful t'you."

"You'd know all about Rick's pride, wouldn't you?"

Daryl took a moment to respond, but when he did, he looked like a cross between confrontational and confused. "What's that supposed t'mean?"

"Y'spent months with these people; y'know 'em back'n front. Y'chose 'em too. Y'chose these strangers over your own brother."

"Hey, don't start with that shit again, man. We settled this; they're family, you're blood. You'd be dead in Woodbury if it weren't for them and the group would be a lot smaller if it weren't for you. We're all a part've the same circle now."

"Maybe you are—hell, maybe even Milton is, but that's somethin' I'm never gonna be a part of. C'mon, bro, look around; we've got less than fifteen people guardin' this whole place and half've 'em are useless. I'm here 'cause I don't got the means t'go solo right now, especially with winter so close, but come spring, I'm outta here."

Daryl jumped down from the porch and shoved Merle. "Don't even joke about shit like that. You're not goin' nowhere. More people are becomin' walkers every day and not enough people are bein' born t'replace 'em. Y'won't find more people out there, just more've the dead, and y'won't make it."

"I'm a Dixon, 'course I'll m—"

"Y'won't make it," said Daryl firmly and marched off.

Merle had half a mind to go after him, but then he heard the gravel crunch behind him and saw Milton's checkered shirt dodging out of sight.

"Hey!" Merle shouted, running after Milton who had a head start, but didn't manage to get far. Merle blocked him from going any further by holding out his arms. "Where you goin' in such a hurry?"

"To stand watch," said Milton in a visible lie.

"With Rick?" said Merle. "What were you gonna tell 'im?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie t'me, dammit, I hate when people lie. What were you gonna tell 'im?" asked Merle again, shaking Milton's collar.

Milton didn't answer, but instead closed his eyes, mouth moving silently to form words that Merle slowly realized were numbers. Milton was counting, though why he didn't know. By the time Milton reached ten, he interrupted himself to say, "Merle, please let go of me now."

"Not 'til you tell me what you were gonna go squealin' on me for."

"Rick needs to know that you don't plan on staying so that he can prepare accordingly, now let go."

" 'Prepare' accordingly? What's he gonna do, recruit the next living person that walks by? He's gotta work with what he's got and right now, that consists of a baby, a hobbled old man, a harmless teenager, an asthmatic, and a clumsy-handed boy. If me'n Daryl leave, it's Andrea, Maggie, Michonne, and Hans who're gonna be protectin' the group 'cause you're a lost cause. You get lucky when y'shoot, but somebody's always been there t'back you up, Miltie. Y'ain't never had t'go it alone."

"I've been training," said Milton earnestly. "I could make it if I had to."

"Is that a fact?"

Merle gave Milton a shove between the shoulder blades to get him moving towards the wall.

"What are you doing?"

"You're gonna show me this trainin' you've been doin'. Then I'll know I'm leavin' the group in good hands."

"What's the difference? You don't give a shit about them anyway, so what do you care if I can protect them or not?"

"Just shuddap and move—"

"No," said Milton, slapping Merle's hand away, "I'm done with you manhandling me and thinking you're so superior because you can fight and I can't. You're dumb as shit and that's what'll get you killed when you leave because you don't know a good thing when you see it, otherwise you wouldn't even consider leaving this group."

Merle let a small chuckle escape him as he walked in a circle around Milton, sizing him up. "Well, now, when'd you grow a pair've balls, Miltie?"

"I could ask you the same thing—"

"_Help!_"

Merle and Milton did a double take at each other and then the interior of the community. That voice was not one they recognized, nor did it sound like it was coming from Groverfield. It had a slightly off sound to it, like it was being projected over a wall, and after waiting a second, they heard it again and it was indeed coming from the other side of the wall. Scrambling up the onto the south guard platform, Merle pulled out his pistol, aiming for the ground below.

A lanky, surprisingly clean-shaven man was fending off at least ten biters that were slowly closing in on him. He was armed with a modern-day tomahawk, but he was bleeding down one side of his face from a wound Merle couldn't quite make out. If it was a bite, Merle didn't feel that it was worth the energy to save him…but Milton had other plans. The asthmatic threw over the escape rope ladder that Daryl had constructed in case the need arose for a quick getaway.

"Don't you do it, son," Merle warned.

"He's human and he's still alive; that's all the cause I need. Stay up here with those balls you claim you have," snapped Milton before lowering himself down and running to the man's rescue with his knife out.

Merle could just envision Rick, Hershel, and Andrea's faces when he told them that Milton had been killed saving a complete stranger—they'd wonder why Merle hadn't done something to save him as if he hadn't already risked his ass plenty of times for the dead weight currently running right into his own demise.

"Shit."

Merle sat down on the edge of the wall and scooted off the edge, landing catlike and sprinting over to where Milton was grappling upright with a biter. Merle stuck his blade up the back of its skull and moved on to one of the two fighting to rip a chunk out of the clean-shaven man's face.

"Run!" Merle hollered, capping off three bullets in as many seconds as Milton and the man ran for the rope ladder. Merle retreated by running backwards and keeping the biters in sight until he heard Milton call from atop the platform that he was covered from above.

_My ass I'm covered. You can't shoot worth a damn_.

Merle stepped onto the ladder, but he hadn't anticipated how difficult it would be to climb when he only had one hand and the ladder was moving about with his weight. But just as he saw a small flash of his childhood begin to play before his eyes, he felt the ladder moving upward and as he dared to glance up, he saw Milton, the man, Andrea, Carl, Michonne, and Maggie hauling him to safety. The biters scrabbled at his heels, but he was quickly whipped up out of their reach. Milton grabbed the back of his shirt to pull him the rest of the way up and Merle collapsed on the wooden platform, breathing in shallow gasps.

Just as he had been taught with strangers, Carl pulled his gun on the man and Michonne began to pat him down for weapons other than his tomahawk which the man had wisely left where he dropped it four feet away. They found a handgun with twelve bullets on him and a carving knife, but nothing else. Maggie made him wriggle out of his backpack and as she opened the first zipped pouch, she unearthed a large white apron.


	20. Chapter 20: The Runaway

**MILTON**

"Where'd you get that apron?" Andrea demanded, turning her own gun on the man.

"It's mine, I put it on when I have to pass by the roamers," said the man. "It's folded so specifically so that the guts on it don't touch the rest of the stuff in my bag. Why's it such a big deal?"

"Because some of your people attacked our people and nearly killed them," said Maggie.

"Look, I don't have any people—"

"Bullshit," said Merle, pulling the man up by his damp bangs so that he squealed in pain. "Where're the rest've your people? Have you been watchin' us?"

"No, no, I'm alone, please—"

"Y'better tell me the truth or you'll see how good I am at scalpin'."

"I'm alone, I swear!" the man screamed as Merle yanked harder on his bangs.

"That's enough," said Milton, wrenching Merle's hand off of the man's head. "Let him speak."

"He can speak after my dad finds out he's here. My dad's in charge," said Carl, then to the man he added, "And it'd better be a good story."

"Are you bit?" asked Merle and with eyes streaming, the man massaged his scalp before answering with a shake of his head.

"Fell right into a tree; bark was rough enough to shave off half of my face."

"Then git up and start walkin'," said Merle, nudging the man to his feet.

"What's your name?" asked Milton.

"Parker," said the man.

"Is that a first name or an alias?"

Milton didn't see why having a different name from the one he actually used would be beneficial to anyone, but he was curious.

"It's a part of my full name," said Parker and Milton felt that it was one subject the man did not want to touch on further.

The troupe led Parker to the Grimes and Greene residence where Rick was running out to meet them. Hans had Judith on his hip on the porch and Daryl, Michonne, and Beth were coming out of the house with weapons ready.

"What happened?" asked Rick, Colt Python drawn.

"This one here was in trouble with the walkers," said Andrea. "Milton and Merle helped him out."

"Who is he?"

"See for yourself," said Maggie, holding out the pack so that Rick could clearly see the apron. With savage hostility, Rick dug the barrel of his pistol into Parker's head and ordered him to kneel. Parker went down slowly, his bloody face terrified.

"Where are the rest of your people?"

"I'm alone," said Parker. "I left them—escaped, I mean. The place is called Terminus and it's a giant facility where all the tracks in southeast Georgia connect. It's about a two and a half day's walk from here, maybe half a day by car."

"What are the aprons for?"

"They're meant to disguise us in herds of roamers. We put roamer blood and guts all over the aprons and then we're invisible to them; they can't smell us—"

"We know, we've tried it," said Michonne.

"We—I mean, they—also use it to protect their clothes from human blood," said Parker, though he looked like he instantly regretted his decision to say this as no less than five guns pointed menacingly at him.

Milton felt that the next thing Parker said that displeased the group would result in an immediate shot to the forehead, and so he stepped in, hoping his brownie points with the group had earned him enough of a say to speak out for this clearly repentant man.

"I don't think it's helping him speak his piece with guns pointed at him," said Milton. "It's clear we don't trust him yet, but we brought him in here, so the least we can do is dress his face and have him on his feet instead of on his knees like he's about to be executed. He had a gun; he could easily have shot Merle and me while we were running, but he helped save Merle. Saving a human life earns a man dignity."

"I second that," said Hershel, limping towards them on a prosthetic foot Merle and Daryl had fashioned for him. "I'll bandage his face and then he can talk."

"He can talk now. We're not wasting resources and supplies on him if he turns out to be a lyin' son've a bitch," said Rick. "Get up."

Parker stumbled in his haste to stand, but when he did, a fraction of his coat moved so that Milton could see the back of his neck where there was a horrible series of scars.

"What do your people do?" asked Rick. "How have you survived? And why did you attack my people?"

"I don't know about the attack, but some of the Termites—that's uh, what the people are called—they never made it back about a month or so ago. There was maybe four or five men that were out on a hunt and they didn't make it, or maybe they made a run for it like I did. Maybe they didn't want to deal with it anymore."

"No, they did, but we made sure they were done with whatever shit they were doin'," said Merle satisfactorily. "We killed 'em after they shot one've ours'n tried t'take 'em back to this Terminus place."

Parker nodded, though Milton saw no remorse on his face.

"They were bringing in potentials. The people who find Terminus or who are found outside of the walls are brought back and given a choice. They can either join the Termites, or they die. Most of them die."

"Why?" asked Carl.

"Because the Termites are cannibals," said Parker, hanging his head. "They offer survivors a chance to eat humans or be eaten. That's what those men you killed were out doing; looking for recruits or food. But I left—"

"Yeah, t'trail us because we looked appetizin', I'll bet," said Daryl in disgust, and he looked genuinely disturbed at the news of cannibals, as did the rest of the group. Milton himself felt his squirrel stew lunch coming back up his throat.

"No, I had to run for it," said Parker earnestly. "I swear to God, I was never one of them. They held me there, but they wouldn't kill me."

"And why not? They kill everybody else who won't eat human flesh," said Rick, stepping in close to Parker so that he was invading the man's personal space as Rick so often did to be confrontational.

"They would force the meat on me, but I always threw it up. I was allowed to go outside the walls for half an hour every day; that's where I'd get my food. I can hunt game like chipmunks and rabbits, so I did, and I'd hide them, then go back out to eat them raw if I had to, sometimes cooked, and then I had to return to Terminus. They warned me that if I ever tried to make a run for it, they'd send everyone out, drag me back, and eat me alive."

"Why go to the trouble of keeping you if they knew you might escape? What did they need you for?" asked Andrea.

"Because I'm smart, and my sister was sleeping with the leader, a man named Gareth," said Parker and now his shoulders quaked with the effort to hold back tears. "But it wasn't enough to just warn me—they beat me without cause and my sister…she didn't do a fucking thing about it. She let them, she encouraged it, and then she'd tell me it was for my own good because I couldn't survive out here on my own, that I needed their protection."

"They beat you?" Rick repeated doubtfully. "Can't have been very hard; apart from that gash from the tree, your face doesn't even have a shaving scratch on it."

Parker threw off his jacket and then pulled his shirt up over his head so that they could all see the bruises and cuts along his arms, chest, and back. Whatever the Termites had hit him with, it left ugly welts.

"They wanted to keep my face bright and clean because I talk well and I'd be the one to introduce the Termites to the newcomers. I had to make it look and sound pleasant, eating humans, so my face was off limits during the beatings."

Now standing shivering in the cold, Parker looked Rick dead in the eye and held up his hands in surrender. "Is that enough, or do you want me to go into further detail?"

Rick made a silent decision with Hershel, Maggie, and Daryl. "You'll stay here for the night. Tomorrow we'll figure out what we're going to do, but for tonight, you'll sleep under guard and if you try anything, we won't hesitate. You touch any of our people, you're dead. No pleading, no negotiating, you're just dead. Do you have any questions?"

"Do you have any food you could spare?"

It was such an innocent question, yet Milton felt a completely foreign lump in his throat because of the longing in Parker's voice.

"Get him somethin' to eat," Rick told Hans who handed Judith off to Maggie.

"Put your clothes back on for a bit, I'll tend to them after I have a look at your face," said Hershel kindly, pointing the way to his medical station inside the Grimes and Greene house. "Milton, you come help me."

Inside, Hershel had Parker sit upright in a chair as he turned on the light—a godsend from the generators Milton had gotten working again. Dabbing away at the blood, Hershel was able to get at the cuts that had scraped off of the first layer of skin, but the entire thing would not leave a scar as long as Parker didn't pick at it. Milton dressed the wounds with an antiseptic paste, but left the stitching to Hershel since one or two of the cuts were deep enough to need stitches. Parker was a model patient, not even flinching as Hershel worked on him, though this was probably painless considering the trauma he'd already been through with the Termites.

When he had finished, Hershel taped a piece of sterile gauze onto Parker's face and then handed him a water bottle.

"As long as you leave it alone, you won't need to come back and see me until your stitches need to be taken out. I'm Hershel Greene, by the way."

"Thank you for your kindness," said Parker, though they sounded like rehearsed words.

"That's some awkward phrasing," Milton noted. "What did the Termites make you say?"

Parker shook his head. "Nothing. I just learned how to keep emotion out of my voice to avoid conflict. Even genuine expressions sound flat nowadays." He held out his hand to Milton. "Thank you for sticking your neck out for me. I get the feeling that it's not something you're comfortable doing, but you came to my rescue twice, so I owe you."

"No, you don't. We try not to dwell on owing people things because it'll drive you crazy. You got out of Terminus, I brought you here, so let's just call it even. I'm Milton, Milton Mamet."

"Daddy, here's the food Rick sent Hans to get," said Beth, limping like her father into the room and carrying a bag of unopened beef jerky.

"And why isn't Hans bringing it?" asked Hershel.

"Because Merle wanted his help with something. He would've gotten more, but he was in a hurry. Anyway, it should hold him over until dinner."

"Parker, this is my youngest daughter, Beth," introduced Hershel and though Milton might have been shocked once upon a time, he found that he expected nothing less from Beth as she stuck out her hand to shake Parker's.

"Those Termites chased me down while I had the baby in my arms," said Beth with her fingers still gripping Parker's whose hopeful smile faltered when she began speaking. "They shot at me, tried to kill me, even though they could see I had a child with me. They caused a herd of walkers to ambush me and nearly kill me when I broke my ankle. The Termites were almost impossible to get away from, so if you were able to, I understand how difficult it was. And if you're who you say you are and not one of them, I'm glad you're here with us. We could use some people who value human life."

She placed the bag of jerky in Parker's hand and left. Parker broke open the bag and began to work at a piece. As Milton watched him, he couldn't help but smile and be grateful for Beth Greene who had also been the first one to make Milton feel genuinely at ease upon his arrival at the prison. She just had a way about her that was so calming and pure when the world was an absolutely horrid place to live.

"Your daughter is a kind-hearted soul, if that's okay to say, Mr. Greene," said Parker after he had swallowed his first strip of jerky.

"It's Hershel, and yes, that's okay to say because she is. She takes after her momma. If you stay with us, Parker, I think the two of you could be very good friends. You both look like you need one."

If Milton had been one to crave human contact on a constant basis, he would have felt insulted and hurt that Hershel didn't suggest he and Parker become good friends, but as it so happened, Milton didn't want a friend. He thought of the group as a collective whole, existing as a unit. If one person were to die, the unit was still going. Thinking about it in logical terms such as these allowed for Milton to let people go more easily when they died. It was how he dealt with the deaths of all the people he knew in his previous life and how he was prepared to deal with more deaths in the apocalypse.


	21. Chapter 21: Last Bit of Humanity

**ANDREA**

She wasn't quite sure what to make of Parker. He was kept under constant guard throughout the day except when it was Hershel's turn and the elderly man had a look at his scars and bruises and afterwards had him help Milton cut some old bedsheets into bandage strips. At dinner, when Maggie brought over the meatloaf she had made, she brought Parker as well and said that he would be their responsibility for the rest of the night.

Michonne kept an eye on him while everyone ate and when Parker had finished, he used his napkin to wipe up the rest of the sauce on his plate and then stuck the napkin in his mouth. When Hans questioned him about this method, Parker stated plainly that this was how he would ensure that he wasn't wasteful with his food when he was used to eating so little.

After that, Merle had had enough and stormed off to keep watch at the wall. Knowing his temperament and anticipating a shooting frenzy just to have something to do that involved mass destruction, Andrea followed him, promising to take the first watch of the night for Daryl if he covered for her now. And just as she had suspected, Merle was gearing up to shoot the walkers bumbling around just outside the walls.

"Don't you dare," she called to him.

"Not now, Blondie."

Andrea ran up the plank to the platform and lowered Merle's rifle. "That's a waste of ammo and we're supposed to keep quiet unless absolutely necessary."

"It's on silent—"

"Merle…"

"I need t'let off some steam, so piss off."

"Why does Parker bother you so much?"

"He don't."

"He do—I mean, he does."

"You're blockin' my shot, honey, now move."

Andrea had dealt with Merle one too many times to hope that her words could dissuade him from going ballistic with his weapon, so she had to pull Parker's Bruni Olympic 6 on him, making sure that he heard her cock the hammer. Merle lowered his rifle a fraction of an inch and winked at her.

"I said it b'fore an' I'll say it agin; we shouldda hooked up. I like a woman who ain't afraid t'shoot a man who's armed."

"I'm flattered. Put it down, Merle."

"Just one lil' biter?"

"What are you, four?"

"Fine."

Merle shouldered his weapon and then came in close to Andrea so that she could still smell the meatloaf on his breath. "What say the two've us see what we can find in one've them attics?"

"What say you answer my question about Parker?"

"He's shit."

"And what's your proof?"

"Ain't no way he could live off've squirrels and still look that healthy. He ate humans and people who do that don't deserve t'live."

"Maybe he did, but we can't make any decisions until we've spoken as a group."

"I don't got time for that."

"Then make time. Your decisions have helped get us here, so Rick values your opinion, but don't let it be biased just because of a hunch."

/ /

Since Andrea didn't want Parker sleeping in her own bed, she took him to one of the neighboring houses and into a bedroom facing the west side of Groverfield. Parker situated himself on the window seat and Andrea stood at the neighboring window, finger resting on the trigger of her gun. Three hours she watched Parker sit and gaze out towards the trees until she visions of Dale confronting the group over that one boy's fate overlapped with reality. She watched as tears clung to the old man's eyelashes as he saw his last hope die with the group's decision. Then the overlap ended and there was only Parker again.

Realizing that she had nodded off mid-shift and left Parker completely unguarded, Andrea sat up and turned her weapon on him, but he was still at the window seat, his outline uncommonly sinister in the moonlight streaming in through the white curtain. She saw his head turn in her direction.

"Who's Dale?" he asked.

"What?"

"Dale. You were mumbling his name in your sleep."

"That's none of your business."

"Okay."

Parker went back to hugging his legs and staring down at the forest floor on the other side of the wall, but Andrea wasn't through with asking _him_ questions.

"How long was I out?"

"Hard to say because I don't have a watch, but I'm guessing somewhere in the neighborhood of forty-five minutes. I kept watch outside; saw a roamer go by, but nothing else."

"Why didn't you try to make a run for it or shoot me?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because—"

"Because you know nothing about me and assume that since most other humans in the world have fucked themselves up like turning to murder, rape, and cannibalism, that I did too, so I'd take the first opportunity I got to do the same to you? I had lots of chances earlier with the kid on guard, with Hershel, and especially with Milton because I get the sense that he's the inexperienced one, but I didn't. Why? Because there has to be an exception nowadays and I am that exception. I've killed people to stay alive, but not to eat them and certainly not because I thought it was a good idea. I've killed like you would kill me; because you just don't know if they're telling the truth or not, but let me tell you something; if we don't at least try to maintain a sense of humanity, then there's no point in living. We continue to exist to uphold the laws of man and sustain life and that includes valuing life for what it is."

_Nearly word for word_.

"He was my friend," said Andrea.

"Dale?"

"Yeah. He found my sister and me when our car broke down on the side of the road; it was already the end of the world and we had no idea, so he picked us up in his old Winnebago and helped us find this group—or at least, some of it. We've been separated for long periods from each other, but we found our way back together and this is my family now. We are what we are thanks to Dale because he was the one who fought for us as humans. He said that preserving human life was the most important thing to do, especially since there's so few of us left. You sounded just like him just now."

"How did he die?"

Milton had asked her the same question, but she couldn't tell him because she didn't feel that he, with his limited knowledge of human emotions, would understand. But Parker was Dale's ideals reincarnated.

"A walker pulled open his stomach and there was no way to save him. Daryl put a bullet in his head. That was over a year ago. Right before I got separated from the group and met Michonne. The two of us made it on our own for a long time, but then we found a place run by a man named Phillip. Merle and Milton were there and Rick and the others were just up the road at a prison. Eventually, Phillip's people and Rick's clashed and we were forced to choose sides, but Phillip tried to ambush us at the prison, so we had to run for it. We lost people on the way and got into some nasty shit, but we had to escape or die. So I guess I understand your predicament."

"I think all of your people understand it; it's getting them to believe it that's the hard part. I don't know how to prove myself to you, but if you think of something, let me know and I'll do it. But for now, I think I'll just go to bed, if that's okay."

Parker did not, however, go _to_ the bed. He simply sat at the window seat, arms still clasped around his knees, and put his head down. It looked like he was trying to make himself as small as possible to present less of a target and Andrea had to wonder how long he had slept like this, expecting an attack from the Termites in the middle of the night.

"Can I at least get you a blanket or something?"

"I can get it," said Parker, perking up his head instantly and going to the comforter on the bed. He whipped the thing off, draped it around himself, and returned to his spot on the window seat, but it looked so uncomfortable, that Andrea couldn't help herself and let her guard down to approach him.

"Parker, that just looks cramped as hell. I don't know what kind of living conditions you're used to, but you can sleep on the bed. I promise you that no one will attack you as long as I'm on watch and I'll keep watch the rest of the night."

"I know you will, but it's just a natural reaction from my body after so long—"

"You're safe. Come lay down."

Parker moved cautiously towards the bed, sat down on the side, kicked off his shoes, and waited.

"You do know how a bed works, right?"

"Can I ask a favor of you?" said Parker, and it was with that same innocent, depraved voice he had used when asking for food. "Would it be possible if I could just—hug you?"

It went against everything Andrea had come to know living in the apocalypse in allowing a stranger to get close to her, but Andrea set her gun on the windowseat and went to him, putting her arms around his shoulders and feeling him embrace her. She didn't know what it was about the men in the group and her motherly instincts, but she now had helped three men who resented and feared touch come to accept and even crave it.

"Thank you," Parker whispered against her.

"Lay down now," Andrea urged, helping Parker to adjust himself so that he was comfortable on the bed. She was so used to checking in on Milton in the night and stroking his hair that she did it to Parker without thinking and paused, waiting for his reaction.

"It's okay," he assured her.

And so she trickled her fingers through his jet black hair until he fell asleep, knowing now that there was no way she could let Rick or Merle make the final decision in choosing whether or not Parker stayed in Groverfield.

By morning, Parker had once again curled into the fetal position, but Andrea went to him and gently nudged his shoulder until his eyelids fluttered open and a smile broke across his face.

"I haven't slept that well since before the outbreak."

He sat up, swinging his legs down so that his feet landed directly in his shoes. As he started to lace them up, there came a shout of alarm from down in the yard. Andrea rushed to the window to see an even dozen walkers milling through the hole in the wooden supports that had blocked the gate. The walkers were mere yards from Beth and Hershel who had risen with the dawn to tend to the morning chores.

"Stay here," Andrea told Parker, and ran out the door and down the stairs, jumping the last four. Merle and Daryl were the first ones outside to intercept the walkers, but four more were still coming towards the Greenes who were supporting each other to escape. Daryl put one walker down with an arrow and Merle stabbed another in the chin. Andrea drew her knife and dispatched another.

_No guns. Keep quiet._

Hershel was now standing alone, having made Beth go for cover while he readied his knife, but the walkers would overwhelm him within seconds. Just then, Milton, red in the face with the exertion of hauling ass to get to Hershel, rammed the closest walker aside and crushed its skull in with the butt of his shotgun. Hans took on the next in similar fashion and Andrea was able to reach them in time to take out the last two.

Too far away, Andrea heard Beth scream and saw her fall as a walker threw itself upon her.


	22. Chapter 22: Experienced Liars

**MERLE**

"Beth!" Daryl yelled, pushing through the biters blocking his way to get to her. Drawn in by the noise he was making, the biters converged on the place where Beth had gone down. But Daryl was still at least twenty feet from Beth when Parker appeared, lifting the biter bodily by the waist and throwing it aside. Somehow he had acquired a gun, which he used to shoot the biter in the face and then take out the next one that was slightly ahead of Daryl. Going to Beth, Parker began to check her for bites, but he had not even begun to run his hands over her arms for traces of teeth marks when Daryl rammed fully into him and pinned him down with his knees, holding a knife to his throat.

"Who fired?" demanded Rick, running out of his house in time to see Michonne and Maggie killing the last of the biters. When he saw Daryl holding Parker down, he looked livid.

Merle and Andrea got to the main group at the same time and Daryl shook Parker by the shirt, ordering him to release his pistol.

"Where'd you get the gun, asshole? Did you have another one hidden outside the walls and went to go get it once you let the walkers in?"

"Daryl, the walkers got through the gate because the boards weren't strong enough to keep them out—"

"Then we need to get replacements up right now," said Rick. "Other walkers probably heard the gunshots."

"Which brings us back t'how this piece've shit got a gun," said Merle, grabbing one of Parker's arms as Daryl took the other and dragging him upright. "Where'd you get it, pretty boy?"

"I gave it to him."

Carl joined the group, shuffling his feet guiltily. "I heard the walkers in the yard and Parker came out to help, but he wasn't armed. I'm not a good aim anymore, so I let him have my gun."

On the verge of telling Carl off, Rick was interrupted by Hershel who had finished examining Beth. "No bites," the old man said shakily, hugging his daughter. "She sprained her bad ankle a bit when she fell, but nothin' worse than that, thank God. Rick, that man saved my daughter and I'd appreciate if you and the Dixons would stop treatin' him like he's filth."

"It's okay, I'm used to it," said Parker.

Merle pulled Parker in close so that the two were less than two inches apart. "I'm sick've you talkin' like that, tryin' t'earn sympathy. It's no secret that I don't like you, boy, but I swear t'fuckin' God, I'll kill you if you were signalin' to anybody."

"I'm alone, you moron. Here you all are wondering how I was able to survive out there while I'm laughing at this piece of work here. Are you really that stupid, Merle, or are you just being ignorant on purpose?"

Merle punched Parker in the jaw to the disapproving groans of those around him, but he didn't care. Parker nursed his jaw, licking blood from his lips, and then swung at Merle, catching him in the stomach. Rick and Daryl forced Parker down, but not before Merle aimed a kick at him and caught him in the ribs. As Merle massaged his stomach, Hershel, Andrea, and Beth all screamed simultaneously for the fighting to stop.

"Merle Dixon, I will put a bullet in both of your kneecaps if you touch him again," said Andrea, fuming. "He hasn't done anything wrong—"

"That you know of," Merle argued.

"You're givin' him every reason to become somethin' much worse than he is because of the way you're treatin' him, Merle," said Hershel. "We all gave you the chance to redeem y'self, now you gotta pay the favor forward. Both of you've saved my baby girl and regardless of your pasts, that makes you good men in my eyes, but I won't have you harmin' him when he's done nothin' to earn that kinda disrespect."

Offering up his hand to Parker, Hershel pulled him to his feet. "Up you get, son. Are you calm?"

"Plenty," said Parker, still giving Merle a foul look for hitting him and Merle gave him a return present of the middle finger.

"We've gotta get that barricade back up," said Michonne pressingly.

"Merle, Daryl, and Milton, with me to hold the gate," said Rick decisively. "Hans, take the rest and get support timbers from the blue house garage."

"What about me, Dad?" asked Carl, eager to make up for his mistake in allowing Parker to take his gun.

"You keep an eye on him," said Rick, nodding at Parker. "If I need you, I'll call you over."

At the gate, another few biters were staggering into view, drawn in by the shot Parker had fired, and Rick and Daryl took care of them as Merle and Milton began to lift the makeshift barricade to set back in place. The other two joined them and then they held the barricade up, pressing against it with their backs in case biters started pounding on the other side.

"It's your call on what t'do with pretty boy, Rick," said Merle, hoping that the sheriff would take his side for once.

"I don't know, Merle, I—don't—know," said Rick in frustration. "He hasn't shown any hostility and he's done what he could to help us."

"He fired the damn gun," Daryl pointed out.

"He didn't know that we were on silent with the weapons," Milton defended. "I worked with him yesterday; besides being defensive, he has no negative qualities and a multitude of positive ones that could be an asset to the group. He can hunt, he's a fast learner, he's accurate with a weapon, and he's strong; not many people can knock the wind out of Merle."

"You shut up," Merle growled.

"Why are you so determined to shut him out? If Rick and the others had been of the same mind when you and I arrived, we'd be dead by Phillip's hand."

"He's got a point," said Daryl.

Hans arrived leading the women with the supplies to secure the blockade and they went to work, leaving Merle and Milton to once again hold the thing up. The hammering of nails and urgent orders being relayed drowned out Milton's next statement to all but Merle.

"For someone who's planning on leaving the group, you certainly are concerning yourself with their safety now that Parker's here."

"Can y'hold the barricade on your own for a second?"

"Why?"

"So I can punch you in the nose."

"Merle, hold the thing still, dammit," cursed Rick as he beat a nail into a piece of plywood.

"Well, it's heavy—"

Maggie was straddling the wall to bind the top of the barricade to the lamps on either side of the entryway when she suddenly jumped off, landing atop Merle and nearly knocking him out with the impact. Merle sat up holding his head with the intention of giving Maggie a piece of his mind when both she and Daryl covered his mouth with their hands.

"Walkers," Maggie whispered. "They heard the commotion and they're conjugating outside. At least thirty of them."

"How stable is the blockade?" asked Milton.

"Not very. And if we keep at it, they'll knock it right over," said Andrea. "All we can do is keep quiet and hope they go away. We'll have to stand guard and press up against—"

"Merle'n me can lead 'em off," Daryl offered. "We'll get their attention and get 'em t'follow us back up to the road. That should buy y'all enough time t'hole the place up."

"Done," said Merle before Rick could come up with some dumbass reason why this was a plan destined to fail. Checking that they were well prepared to go on this mission, Merle and Daryl headed off to the observation platform. Merle saw Carl and Parker still where they had been left in front of the Grimes and Greene house, but didn't care to stop and explain. The brothers scooted off the wall, dropped down, and ran around to the gate where the biters were forming an impenetrable mass in front of the gate, but not yet forcing themselves against it.

"Whenever you're ready bro," said Daryl.

Merle gave a sharp whistle through his teeth and the biters gradually turned towards him. Waving his arm and whistling again, Merle turned and ran after Daryl, making enough noise as they went to get the biters to follow in their wake. They had to pace themselves evenly, otherwise they might get ahead of the crowd and cause them to lose interest. As fit as ever and well trained in keeping their balance while jogging over rugged terrain, both Merle and Daryl started to make a competition out of their situation by seeing who could travel the greatest distance after letting the biters get in close. In less than forty minutes they had reached the road and then darted into the trees so that the biters would keep moving on. When the last of them had passed by in the direction Merle and Daryl supposedly went, the Dixons started off at a brisk walk back to Groverfield, parched and starting to feel the effects of running at seven in the morning with no coats.

"Honest t'God opinion, man, whad'ya think've Parker?" asked Merle, trying to keep moisture in his mouth by licking the inside of it.

"Too early t'tell if he's got somethin' else planned, but he seems alright," said Daryl. "He put 'is ass on the line for Beth. Nowadays no stranger'd do that, s'pecially not for no hobblin' teenage girl who looks like she wouldn't stand a chance on 'er own. But Parker did, which means he's already better'n most people still left alive."

"That or he's even a better liar than the Governor was. Wouldn't be the first time somebody stuck their neck out for somebody else t'get in the good books all the while plannin' t'kill the people he'd saved."

"Like us."

"We weren't plannin' on killin' nobody, bro. We's just gonna take all their supplies and lay a good sized lump on anybody's head who had a problem with that. But time's a-changin', and we never got around t'that. So here we are. The others in the group can't see it 'cause they can't think like the bad people do. Takes one t'know one, and I know Parker's one."

"Y'know what I think? I think you just don't wanna let anyone else in 'cause you feel that whoever it is, the group'll be more acceptin' of them than you like with Michonne, Andrea, Milton, and Hans."

"Bullshit, man."

"It ain't. It's how you are. Y'put all four've 'em down all the time t'make up for that feelin' of loss you got when y'see the rest've the group getting' along with them better'n you. But it ain't 'cause they don't want you there. You're just a hard person t'get along with. The group may not like you, but they don't hatechoo. If y'tried t'be a bit nicer, y'wouldn't feel so left out."

"You pick up a book or two on psychiatry while we were separated, lil' brother?" Merle scoffed.

"I learned that from Carol," said Daryl defiantly.

"Look, it don't matter. I saw them people with the aprons just like Andrea, Michonne, and Beth, and know that I know they're livin' versions've biters, I ain't got any sympathy for 'em. Parker was with 'em for a long time and his story just don't add up t'me."

"Andrea was the one who got shot by the Termites, but she's the one who stuck up for Parker," said Daryl.

"Maybe he turns her on," suggested Merle half-heartedly.

"Nah, bro, if there's anybody who she's got a thing for, it's Milton."

This was the one thing Merle did not want to hear in that a man like Milton with no physical attributes and an awkward personality managed to get the girl over someone like Merle. Here he was trying out his luck day in and day out and Milton managed to look more appealing with his wheezy-ass always lagging behind.

To steer the conversation away from Merle's romantic endeavors, he brought it back around to Parker.

"Look, all I'm sayin' is, I got a bad feelin' about Parker. He's too good at lyin' so that I can't even tell what the real story is, but it ain't what he told us. And if somethin' goes down, I need t'know that you've got my back."

"I got it, bro."


	23. Chapter 23: Before and After

**MILTON**

The Dixons were back by breakfast and it was Hans and Maggie who helped them back up the rope ladder and offered them water. By now the barricade had been secured and Milton had been put back on guard duty over Parker, though it mainly consisted of mopping up the blood from Parker's nose from when the Dixons had assaulted him. Parker and Beth struck up animated conversation in Hershel's medical room and though Milton knew close to nothing about romantic relationships, he could see the chemistry between the two and how Beth's face seemed brighter than it had since Milton had known her. Logically, it was not a relationship Milton could see working because of Hershel's say. Unless she had had a birthday and kept it to herself, Beth was still seventeen, and Parker looked to be about Milton's own age and the late thirties was much too old for a seventeen-year-old. But her options were limited in the romantic field.

When Andrea came to take over Milton's shift, Carl followed her in with Judith and let Beth hold her as he went to help his father with chores. Parker smiled at Judith in astonishment.

"Of all the things I never expected to see again, a baby was near the top of the list," he commented.

"Would you like to hold her?" asked Beth.

"Can I?"

Parker was extremely gentle, but seemingly well-rehearsed in positioning Judith so that she would rest comfortably in his arms. He and Beth began speaking to Judith in that childish nonsensical way that Milton loathed and Andrea laughed at him.

"Just because you have the face of someone performing surgery when you hold Judith doesn't mean the rest of us have to, Milton."

"I just never understood it. My parents spoke to me like I was at least twelve years old for as long as I knew them."

"But they never showed you much affection either, did they?" Andrea pointed out. It was not an insult, but a rather harsh truth, though Milton didn't care either way. "They didn't help you connect to people; you had to learn that on your own."

"You helped."

"You were an experiment," Andrea quipped. "A successful one, I might add."

Though Milton wouldn't say so, he wasn't about to disagree with her out loud, so he excused himself and made himself busy tending to other duties about Groverfield until Rick called attention to Parker's sleeping predicament.

"I don't want him near my kids, but I want someone near him at all times at least until we feel more secure about him."

"He can share my room," offered Milton before anyone else could volunteer, mostly because he knew that no one else would. "The rooms are sizeable enough so that fitting another mattress in there shouldn't be a problem. With half of you thinking it would be a terrible idea to have him isolated because no one could see what he's up to and the other half not wanting to share a room with him, this is the only logical explanation. I'm impartial to a roommate."

"Be it on your own head then," said Daryl.

/ /

As it turned out, Parker was actually quite the chatterbox once he found that there was no one to interrupt him or tell him to shut his piehole, and since Milton was not yet comfortable enough with Parker to speak as much as he would to Andrea or Hershel, he mostly kept silent while Parker talked. The interesting thing was, Parker didn't talk about himself and fond memories of lost loved ones; he talked about places he had traveled and the treacherous journey through a variety of terrains ranging from mountains to desert canyons. By the time Milton had finished brushing his teeth and Parker had completed setting up his bed, Parker mentioned how he and his sister Kara had actually been in the Appalachian Mountains when the outbreak started, and so they were far away from the thick of things. It had been too cold to remain at the high altitude, and so they came down to the mainland and began the trek south until they stumbled upon Terminus.

"When you think about it, it's not too bad of a send-off if the last hike I ever got to go on was through the Appalachians," said Parker as he wriggled down into his bed.

Milton switched off the lamp on his bedside table and Parker blew out the candle nestled in the book shelf to his right. Now with nothing but the moon to light their room, it was oddly quiet—until Parker asked in a rather excited whisper, "This kinda brings back memories, doesn't it? Sleepovers where the parents would tell everyone that it was time to go to bed and the lights would go out, but as soon as you heard the parents leave, you started whispering to your friends."

"I wouldn't know," said Milton. "I never had those as a child."

"Had what, sleepovers?"

"Sleepovers, friends, protective parents," said Milton bluntly. "I was the strange kid with epilepsy who no one else wanted to associate their children with, so I grew up alone and my parents bought me chemistry sets and other science-related toys to occupy me in a horribly cliché fashion, but they never concerned themselves too much about me unless I was having an episode. So no, I don't really know what you're talking about."

"You're not one much for small talk, are you?"

"Talking in general. I work best in silence."

"Then this rooming thing might not be such a good idea, because I love to talk."

"I noticed."

"I can sleep on the living room couch if it bothers you—"

"It doesn't. I'm actually pleased that someone can just keep going and practically hold the conversation by themselves without needing any type of contribution from me. And now that meeting new people is such a dangerous and rare occurrence, it's refreshing to hear about someone else's life. The people in this group don't care to share very much about their troubled past, particularly the Dixons."

"Yeah, I got that drift from them."

"If you don't mind my asking, what did you do before this?"

"I taught choir and third level guitar at Laramie College, why?"

Milton wasn't sure what sort of job he expected Parker to have had before the world went to hell, but it certainly wasn't that. An outdoorsy choir and guitar professor was just not a pairing he had expected and more than that, he didn't expect it to be followed up with Parker's current predicament.

"What about you?" Parker queried.

"A mixture of chemical engineering and medical science," said Milton, surprised to hear the words coming out of his mouth. If Phillip was still alive at this point (and after the last encounter with him, Milton was almost positive he wasn't), that made only two people that knew Milton's pre-apocalyptic occupation. He hadn't even told Andrea or Hershel.

"I can see that," said Parker. "Do you know what the others did?"

"Only Rick. He used to be a sheriff, but I didn't know any of these people before the outbreak and only came to them a few weeks ago. They took me in; they do that for the people who deserve it."

"Do you think I do?"

It was an on-the-spot question, and Milton hadn't yet made up his mind about Parker, so he chose not to answer. When he remained silent, Parker seemed to get the message.

"Oh, okay. Well, good night."

/ /

For the first few hours, Parker was a relatively silent sleeper, but then Milton heard him give a troubled moan. Initially he thought nothing of it, but as Parker's unconscious soundtrack continued, Milton couldn't find sleep and so eventually, he fumbled on his bedside dresser for his glasses, pushed them up onto his nose, and stole out of bed to Parker's mattress.

Parker's arms and legs were twitching madly and his face had contorted into a look of pain as he whimpered in his sleep. Milton didn't know what else to do besides try to wake him up, so he shook Parker's shoulder roughly and squinting up at him with one eye open, Parker shook his head.

"Move," he said, grimacing.

"What—"

"Get out of the way…"

Parker shoved Milton aside just as he vomited onto the hardwood floor, spilling chunks of the stew Merle had helped make that Milton had had no appetite for. Milton stood up to avoid the sick which was starting to trickle towards his knees, and then helped Parker to stand up, escorting him to the Jack and Jill bathroom just in time for him to hurl spectacularly into the toilet. Pressing his knuckles to Parker's forehead, he felt a rising temperature and suspected either food poisoning or the flu, neither of which was convenient for the end of the world. Milton knew how to treat such symptoms with the proper supplies, having studied and worked with such situations on top of needing to assist Dr. Stephens back in Woodbury, but in Groverfield, there were limited resources to assist in any type of illness that amounted to more than a mild headache.

Deciding that he needed Hershel, Milton prepared to go next door and awake the elderly man, but then realized that he should have someone stay with Parker, so he quietly opened the door to Andrea's room and approached her bedside. He learned from Merle that people hated being woken up in the middle of the night by having someone make noise from a safe distance and preferred a swift poke in the side, so he touched Andrea's bare arm until she opened her eyes.

"What is it?" she asked in alarm.

"Parker's ill," said Milton. "He's vomiting in the bathroom now. Would you stay with him while I go get Hershel?"

"I'll go get Hershel," Andrea offered, beginning to sit up, but something in her movement caused Milton to suddenly feel faint and nauseous. He stepped back from her, clutching his stomach, and then ran for the bathroom where he halfway made it to Andrea's sink before puking into the drain.

In moments, Andrea was beside him, looking concerned that perhaps seeing Parker vomit had caused a chain reaction with Milton to vomit as well, but the innards of stomachs didn't bother Milton nearly as much as blood and guts did. No, Milton knew that he was genuinely sick, just like Parker. Andrea felt Milton's forehead and then in the water closet behind them, Parker made a loud groan as he heaved once again. With a damp cloth, Andrea wiped a dribble of throw up from Milton's chin, and then disappeared for a moment, returning with Merle, who had been closest to hers and Milton's room.

"I'll be back in just a few," she said, and then left again.

"What other symptoms you got?" asked Merle from the doorway to Milton's right. "You got the runs? Chills?"

Not trusting himself to speak, Milton pulled the trash can out from under the sink, hugging it to his chest, and sinking onto the floor as he listened to Parker being sick in the toilet a few feet away.

"If y'get me sick, I'mma kill you, Miltie."

_If we can't find antibiotics for this illness, you won't have to._


	24. Chapter 24: Strange Attractions

**ANDREA**

"It's definitely a type of flu," Hershel confirmed two hours later after he, Andrea, Merle, and Daryl had moved Milton and Parker back into Milton's room with buckets nearby. "Not exactly sure which because there was no initial onset, but with their symptoms now, I know it's influenza. I can manage as long as it's just the two of them," said Hershel. "We gotta keep this contained, which means Hans and Michonne'll have to go live at my place until this passes. The rest've you are exposed."

"What can we do to not catch this thing?" asked Andrea.

"Cover your mouths when you're around them, wash your hands, air out your rooms, drink fluids, and take all the Vitamin C you can find. In the meantime, somebody's gonna have to go on a run and look for something I can treat 'em with."

"Then we're all screwed, 'cause Miltie's the only one who knows this shit besides you," said Merle.

"No we ain't," said Daryl. "We passed a pharmacy 'bout twenty miles back up the road. There's gotta be somethin' there we can use and you'd know, Merle."

"Narcotics don't count, dumbass."

"No, he's right," said Hershel. "You should go, Merle. Take Maggie with you and bring back everything, whatever it takes."

Andrea could see that Merle wasn't keen at all to be doing such a thing for two people that he didn't particularly care for, and so she volunteered in the hopes that it would motivate him.

"I'll go, too. There's bound to be a car along the road we can use and if not, we'll just take the bus."

"At the rate the two've them are pukin', sweetheart, I don't think they'll make it another two days, even with long-expired drugs."

"Then I'll go by myself," said Andrea fiercely. "Unlike some people, I actually give a fuck what happens to those men in there. One of them is the best friend I have and the other has been through far more damage than you."

Merle shot her a warning look because he knew that she was referring to his scarred back, similar, yet so different from Parker's. But Andrea had had enough of Merle being the selfish asshole that he always reverted to.

"I'm going with or without you, Merle, but if you don't go, you'd better work your damned hardest to keep Milton and Parker alive or I will come back and shoot you myself. I've had it with you pretending like you don't care what happens to the rest of us and I'm not going to put up with your bullshit anymore. If you can't man the fuck up, then get out." Turning to Hershel, Andrea handed him a pen and stack of notebook paper. "Write down the specific things you think you'll need and I'll make sure to look for those first in case things get heated and I have to get in and out."

"I'll go with you," Daryl offered.

"I need you here to help look after Milton and Parker," said Hershel. "Like I said, you've been exposed, and if Andrea's goin', you're stayin'. But first, go wake up Michonne and Hans and tell 'em they've gotta move out for the time being."

Andrea left Merle standing defensively in the hallway and tiptoed into Milton's room where both men were hanging off of their beds with their heads positioned above the vomit buckets. She went to Parker first and eased him back onto his mattress, patting his face with a different cloth from the one she had used on Milton.

"Try to sleep," said Andrea, not knowing what else to say.

"If I die—"

"You're not going to—"

"If—I—die…at least I got out," said Parker weakly, smiling with his eyes closed.

Milton was on the verge of falling onto the floor, so Andrea rushed to him and dragged him back into bed, propping his head up on his pillows and smoothing his sweaty bangs out of his face.

"I have a request if I don't make it," said Milton.

"Oh, not you too—"

"Don't mark my grave. I don't want people defecating on me in death the same way they did while I was alive."

"You're going to make it, Milton. I'm going to get medicine now and I promise that I'll be back in time."

"That's ambitious."

"You don't get to check out on me," said Andrea as a lump formed in her throat. Had Dale not said those very words to her as she sat on the floor of the CDC, wishing for death? What if Milton desired death now and she was denying him that right? Was she being selfish in making both of these men hold onto a life that perhaps they didn't want?

"Then hurry, please."

From outside, Andrea heard Hershel raising his voice and a few seconds later, Beth stormed in with her limp, plopping herself down beside Parker as her father followed her in.

"There, now it's too late; I've been exposed. And what if you or Daryl get sick on the job? You need somebody who knows a little bit of somethin' in case you can't help, and with Maggie leavin' with Andrea, I'm all you've got."

Inspired by the dedication Beth showed Parker, Andrea kissed Milton's forehead before hurrying out of the room with Hershel who gave her his list. Maggie met her on the porch and though Rick, Michonne, and Hans were insistent on accompanying them, Andrea pointed out that the three of them had to stand guard at the walls and run Groverfield since now Merle, Daryl, Hershel, and Beth couldn't come out until they had been vaccinated.

Andrea and Maggie hopped the wall, headed for the road on foot and fully intending to use the bus since neither of them knew how to hotwire a car. Though the crisp morning air was fresh, Andrea still smelled the staleness of Milton's room and the ripe stench of bodily fluids that accompanied it. Her mind was reeling with Beth's bold statement of affection for Parker, a man who she hardly knew. Of course one as young as Beth who had not yet had the chance to live a full life, would want to find companionship because of the predicted shortness of life. And Andrea, having picked up on observational habits from Dale, had also noticed that though Maggie was still grieving for Glenn, she and Hans were rarely seen without the presence of the other nowadays.

And where did she stand? Andrea had allowed herself to be wooed by Phillip and then shown his true colors in a horrible fashion by Milton. Milton, who had stood by her side at all times, persuaded her to return to her people, and in his own words, had always come back for her. But did she feel attraction for him, or just protectiveness? With Shane's powerful and hotheaded demeanor, Andrea had wanted the one-time fling, just to feel a man after so long without any physical male contact. With Phillip, he had had this commanding, yet charming presence, and his flirtatious ways had hooked her. Previous boyfriends and partners had all had some form of lead-up, something that made Andrea yearn for their body and smooth words. But with Milton, she felt and desired none of that.

She and Milton had protected each other since the night Mr. Coleman died. Milton was a lost child yearning for a place to belong, not someone to love. So what she felt for him had to be motherly affection, right?

That left the unspoken for bachelors at Rick, Daryl, and—

"Y'all wait up!"

Merle jogged to catch up with them, a rifle slung over his shoulder and a duffel bag tucked under his arm, which he tossed at Maggie.

"What are you doing here?" asked Andrea, more surprised than irritated at his late arrival.

"Hershel and my baby brother've got ol' Miltie tucked in like they was gonna read 'im bedtime stories and the girl's lookin' all doey-eyed at Parker, so I had t'get the hell outta there," said Merle with his crooked grin. "B'sides, someone changed my mind."

He shot Andrea a wink.

/ /

"I don't think there's anythin' in there left t'find," Merle stated a half hour later as they climbed out of their hotwired car and looked up at the unlit neon red sign that said "Pharmacy". The store windows had been shattered and there was blood on the doorstep, neither of which were very promising signs.

"Then we keep trying, comb through houses and drug stores until we find something," said Maggie. "Nobody else dies."

Together, she and Andrea took up stances on either side of the windows and banged on the wall to alert any walkers inside of their presence. A lone walker came to Maggie's window and she put it down effortlessly before stepping over the glass to enter the building. Andrea grabbed a basket by the front of the store and headed to the left while Merle took the center and Maggie the far right. As it turned out, there happened to be a lot of pharmaceuticals still intact; the windows up front must have been smashed in an altercation. Andrea began swiping everything from laxatives to allergy pills into the basket and within a few seconds had filled up the thing so that she had to go and find another. Four baskets later she had emptied her side of the store and then pushed her haul towards the door. Maggie met up with her in no time, though with a smaller haul since Maggie's side had mostly consisted of things like toothbrushes and the photo pick-up station.

While waiting for Merle, they combed through their stock to find what they thought would be most beneficial for Hershel to use on Milton and Parker so that it was ready to go when they arrived back. They also swallowed a few pills designed to prevent flu-like symptoms, hoping it would be enough to prevent them from getting sick as well.

"Merle, what the hell's taking so long?" called Maggie after a few minutes.

Having received no reply, the women exchanged looks of worry and then drew their pistols, creeping up the aisle with their sights focused ahead. At the end, they found Merle with his head in his hand, sitting across from what looked like a bag of white powder.

"Is that-?"

"Flake, yeah," said Merle in a strained voice. "Somebody musta dropped it when they came lookin' for somethin' in here."

"Why didn't you answer when we called you?" asked Maggie irritably.

"Do me a favor, honey, and git rid've that shit b'fore I relapse, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

Merle rubbed the back of his head, still eyeing the cocaine on the floor. "Look, growin' up on a farm away from civilization prob'ly had a hand in makin' you dumb to alotta outside world shit, darlin', but I think the word relapse speaks for itself."

"He was on the powder," said Andrea, deliberately leaving out the part about Merle being a low-life drug dealer and heavy user, resulting in him getting left on the roof in Atlanta in the first place. "He probably hasn't been around any of his old stuff since—well, it'll be two years in August." She scooped up the bag and stuffed it into her pocket. "I'll toss it out the window on the drive back, but we need to leave now and get this medicine to Hershel."

"I raided the back," said Merle, showing them his full duffel bag with needles, prescription drugs, and the like. "Surprised nobody before us thought t'look behind the counter."

"Then let's go."

As they loaded up the minivan (a car Merle was by no means excited to break into, but agreed it was necessary if they had to transport multiple people, and well-camouflaged given that it was a car no one would think to steal), Merle pulled Andrea aside, head down and eyes averted as if what he was about to say was either incredibly embarrassing or painful.

"Thanks for that in there," he said, speaking to the pavement. "Y'didn't haveta cover for me."

"I think you earned it if you had the self-control to not snort up the whole stash while we were busy collecting supplies."

Now daring to look her in the eye, Merle cocked his head to the side in the flirtatious gesture Andrea had come to associate with him hitting on her. "Just for the record, I'm still wonderin' why we never hooked up, s'pecially b'fore I called you what I did."

"Because I had other things going on both times besides wanting to hook up."

"Whatcha got goin' on when we get back home?"

"Nice try."

Andrea finished loading the last of the supplies with Maggie as Merle took out a walker coming to investigate the source of noise and then she slid into the passenger seat opposite Merle who took the wheel. There was an all-knowing grin on his face and before Andrea could look away, Merle caught her watching him and his grin grew in size.


	25. Chapter 25: Final Wishes

**MERLE**

Since the combined efforts of Hershel, Beth, and Andrea seemed to be just enough without overcrowding Milton's room, Merle waited across the hall in his own room. He disassembled, cleaned, reassembled, loaded, and arranged his weapons and even made his bed out of boredom as he waited to see if Milton and Parker were going to pull through, or if they were beyond hope and now all those exposed to them had to pop every pill he, Andrea, and Maggie had brought back to avoid dying.

Over an hour after he had finished wiping the last of the dust away from his windowsills, Merle was just about to crawl back into his newly-made bed to take a much-needed nap when Maggie knocked on his door, summoning him to Milton's room.

"Milton wants to talk to you."

"Tell 'im I said hi too," said Merle, pulling down his covers and preparing to kick off his shoes.

"My dad says he and Parker are outta danger, but that there's a chance the symptoms could come back. Milton wants to tell you something in case they do and he doesn't make it," said Maggie stiffly.

Last requests. Glenn's had been to save Judith and Merle performed, but only because he needed the baby to get back into the group's good books. He didn't owe Milton anything, especially after he had just risked his ass and his cleanliness to get the man's medication.

"Should I tell him you're comin', or you just gonna stand there?"

"You can tell 'im whatever y'want. I'm goin' back t'bed."

"But if you go to bed, you're going to wake up. Milton might not."

"For Chrissake, I'm comin', I'm comin'—"

In Milton's room, Beth was dabbing Parker's forehead as she sang softly beside him while Andrea was spoon-feeding Milton a mixture of broth and some herbal something-or-another that Hershel had concocted. Merle cleared his throat to let Andrea know he was there and then, squeezing Milton's wrist, she left the two of them alone, instructing Beth to take a small break as well.

Milton's head was slightly propped up against his pillows, the covers were pulled up to his chest but one arm still stuck out, and he smelled like a mixture of something gone sour overnight and old people, which made no sense to Merle because the only old person around was Hershel and the old man smelled like butterscotch. It looked like Milton had lost some serious weight in his face and dark, bruised-looking circles hung under his eyes. His exposed hand almost looked skeletal. The change that had overcome him since the day before was alarming; so much so that Merle had to wonder if Milton was actually bitten instead of suffering from the flu. These drastic alterations to Milton's body were what people looked like when they were coming down with the fever of the dead.

Just to reassure himself, Merle started checking Milton for bites, running his hands up and down Milton's arm, then pulling back the covers to check his other arm, his legs, and finally his chest and shoulders. As if just noticing Merle's presence, Milton spoke up in a frog-like tone.

"Merle…what _are_ you doing?"

"Y'ain't bit, are ya, Miltie?"

"Unless a biter got in between now and four minutes ago, no."

"Y'look worse'n shit, y'know."

"Lean closer; I can't talk very loudly," said Milton as Merle threw the covers back over him, accidentally covering his face in the process.

"What's up, Miltie?" Merle asked as he readjusted the blankets so that at least Milton could speak clearly. "I'm kinda busy—"

"I'll make it quick so you can go back to your nap," said Milton with his eyes closed. For someone who apparently took zero interest in anything Merle-related unless it threatened the group, Milton knew Merle too well. "Hershel says that there's no more danger, but I can't ignore statistics. I could still die from this illness and if that happens, I need you to be the one to put me down."

"Oh, you ain't dyin', son, suck it up."

"Look at me," said Milton angrily as his eyes fluttered open to reveal the bloodshot quality of his irises. "I just threw up half of my body weight in fourteen hours. I could still die. You know it; you saw Rhett Stoddard die of something very similar back in Woodbury. Remember how he almost bit Mrs. Peterson because we didn't know that the dead reanimated? We know that now, and I need you to promise me that you're going to be the one to take me out if it happens because I can't be the cause of death to anyone here, especially not that baby."

"I ain't sittin' over you, waitin' for you to kick the bucket."

"You don't have to. But if Hershel comes to you and tells you that I'm on my way out, you have to do it."

"Andrea could, y'know. Or Hans, or the ol' man; he's got it in 'im. Hell, anyone but Parker could do it right now."

"In the moment, yes, they could do it, but after, it'll hurt them. It won't hurt you; killing people—or what they become—doesn't affect you."

Merle would have loved to come up with a witty remark in response, but Milton's comment caught him off guard. Did Milton really think so lowly of him that he figured that Merle's soul wouldn't be damaged in killing Milton's corpse because Merle had no feelings to give about the dead? That he didn't give a shit about anyone's death as long as it didn't impact him? Was this how they all saw him? An impassive brute who could do the dirty work because he was so emotionally bottled up and caved in that killing people had no effect on him?

"Well?"

"Y'ever consider that askin' me t'do this would make the others think that I put y'down just 'cause we don't get along?"

"I already told Andrea that I wanted you to do it. Merle, don't make me beg you."

"So don't beg."

"Could you please, for once in your life, have some empathy? Could you drop the sarcastic shit and just take the situation seriously? This is my life we're talking about; my life hanging in the balance right now. I could die at any moment and not from a biter or a human being, but disease, and I think that if I can't choose the way I die, that I should at least be able to choose how I stay dead." A few tear droplets escaped Milton's eyes, but he was too weak to wipe them away and he looked ashamed of that fact. "You understand, Merle? It's my life—worthless, overly-critical, pathetic life that it is—it's mine and all I'm asking is for someone to do something for me because I'm physically incapable of doing it. I just need someone to help me, that's all. Is that too much to ask? One stab of your blade or a bullet. That's all I'm asking from you. Can you please do that for me?

When Merle had had to kill off companions before because they had been bitten or dying from something or another, they had begged Merle to not kill them so that they could reunite with their families in the world of the dead. They spoke of life-changing epiphanies and how they realized that life was so precious when there were few people left to share it with, but none of them had ever told Merle flat-out that they knew their lives meant nothing. Who the hell did that sort of thing? Who said, "I'm a worthless piece of shit, shoot me when I die,"?

"Merle…"

Merle realized he had been sitting in silence for a few minutes and after a brief nod, he went to leave the room, but Milton had one last favor to ask of him.

"And if I'm gone, Parker won't be far behind, so you'll need to see to him as well."

_I do not understand you at all, Miltie._

/ /

Contrary to what he had been hoping to do before Maggie interrupted him, Merle did not go back to bed. He sat at the foot of his bed, mindlessly messing with the buckle on his attachment as he ran over Milton's words in his head. Hearing Milton beg for Merle to kill him before he reanimated so that the weight wouldn't hang heavy on the others was just about the most selfless thing Merle could imagine anyone asking. It was at the point where Merle felt like a complete and utter ass for cutting Milton off at every chance he got. He didn't like the man, but there was something to be said for an individual who was still thinking of other people who he hardly knew when the apocalypse demanded that every man fend for himself. That sort of self-sacrificing attitude demanded respect.

"Merle, I need to speak to you alone, if that's okay," said Andrea, standing in the doorway and looking wiped out.

"Can it wait, Blondie? I'm flattered and I know it's long overdue, but I'm dead-tired right now."

Andrea came to him and put her arms around him in a grateful embrace. He didn't hug her back, but neither did he push her away. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn't have allowed the physical contact, but since it was Andrea who had been helping him adjust to that sort of thing, he felt that it was okay.

"Thank you for helping me."

"I didn't really have a choice; y'called me out and no Dixon ever lets a challenge go unmet."

"No, you came with me because you know how valuable both Milton and Parker are to the group and how their deaths and illness could eventually affect us all. Even if it was a selfish reason in trying to help the group survive so that we can help you survive, you still went, and that's something I never would have thought you were capable of doing. Not only that, but Milton is extremely important to me; he was the only sure friend I knew I had in Woodbury once Phillip was exposed for what he really was. Losing Milton now…it would feel like my staying in Woodbury to defend the people there was worthless. I managed to save one person and that's Milton and in this life for what it is now, that's more than I could hope for."

"Then y'better keep 'im under lock'n key, 'cause that boy's got no clue what he's doin' with a gun half the time and the other half, he's just lucky."

"He's trying."

Merle stopped before he could tell Andrea what Milton had told him. Should she know that Milton had no idea that he meant so much to her? Should Merle tell her that Milton was ready to make his exit, stage right, at this very second?

"Y'know he asked me t'put 'im down if he dies."

"No, I didn't know that," said Andrea.

_Whoops_.

"Well, then, forget I said anythin'."

"Is that what he wanted to talk to you about? He wanted to ask you privately if you'd put a bullet in his head?"

"Well, don't sound so hurt. If y'wanna shoot 'im that bad, I'll letcha."

"Tell me what he said," urged Andrea.

"He said…" _Now, that's a major invasion of privacy and confidential information._ "He said…" _Milton asked to tell you this alone, didn't he? Why else would he have Andrea leave the room?_ "He said…uh, that's it. He just wanted me t'do it."

"Why would he ask for someone specific to do that?"

"I'm thinkin' 'cause he knows I don't like 'im, so when he dies, he's finally givin' me a chance t'blow 'is ass sky-high like I've been wantin' t'do since I met 'im."

Andrea slapped him across the shoulder. "Be serious."

"That's my serious answer. Either that, or he just knows that I won't have any trouble with it when the time comes."

"Won't have any trouble?" Andrea echoed.

"Y'know, Blondie, when y'repeat things I say'n tiltcher head like that, it kinda grates on my nerves. Yeah, ol' Miltie knows that I can take out his brain, no problem, and go on with my day."

"Why, because you aren't emotionally attached to him? Does he think that since you're such a hardass that you don't feel anything when you kill people?"

_So accurate it's scary._

"What if you had to shoot Daryl, Merle? And don't say that you could do it easily, because he's your brother and you went through hell to get to him. He's all you care about."

Merle shrugged. "Well, I said goodbye to 'im once before, didn't I? Won't be hard t'do it again."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"Hey, why're you gettin' mad at me? I'm not the one who asked me to shoot my brains out. Go blame your loyal pet Labrador with glasses."

"I'll get to him when he wakes up, but you—"

"Nope, nope, stop right there. This ain't a therapy session, you ain't a shrink, and I'm not fucked up. No talkin' about feelins or what I'd do if it came down t'cappin' off my brother. I'll cross that bridge when I reach it, if I reach it, and that's one thing I don't need you buttin' into, alright honey?"

"I need to know if you're prepared to put your own brother down because if you can't, someone else will."

"If Daryl dies, that's my responsibility, same as it is his if I bite the bullet. Ain't nobody gonna put us in the ground but each other, and don'tchoo forget it, now shoo, I'm dog-tired."

He would be lying if he said Andrea coming to him in his bedroom didn't get him a little excited, but the way she left had him feeling much worse than he had at any point while talking to Milton.


	26. Chapter 26: The Alpha

**MILTON**

Contrary to Merle's public (and Milton's private) speculations that both Milton and Parker would die within hours or days, neither one of them did. It was a painful and relatively boring two weeks to get through, but when Parker managed to sleep through the night without vomiting, Hershel declared that there would be a one hundred percent recovery. Though the second to fall ill, Milton was the first one able to get back on his feet to fetch water for Parker in the middle of the night as Beth lay passed out on the floor beside Parker's mattress. Stepping over her, Milton saw how her knees were curled up to her chest and how she shivered against the cold, so he dragged a blanket off of the foot of his bed that Andrea had brought in from the linen closet and draped it over her. Using the wall as a guide, Milton moved slowly towards the bathroom where he filled up Parker's cup and trudged back to his fellow sick-mate.

"Parker, your pills…"

Parker stuck out his hand for the pills with half of his face still buried in his pillow, but with Parker being unconsciously uncooperative, Milton bypassed the middle step and popped Parker's mouth open to administer his medication. He then held the cup to Parker's lips, let him take a good mouthful of water to swallow, and was about to return to his bed when he heard stifled sobbing from the other side of the bathroom.

Trudging back through the bathroom, Milton turned the knob to Andrea's room and saw her perched at her windowseat, hugging a pillow to her chest that had damp spots on it from the tears running down her face. Milton had never seen her so upset before, and it troubled him because he knew it was a deeply emotional thing that he probably couldn't assist her with. Sorrow was the hardest thing for Milton to comprehend because half the time, there was no logical explanation for why someone should be feeling anything less than contented. So what could he do for Andrea, who had always put out a strong front and hidden her sorrow from Milton because she knew he wouldn't understand?

"Andrea?"

"Milton," said Andrea, wiping at her face with the heel of her hand. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"Parker needed his medication. What's wrong?"

Her reply was standard for someone who didn't know how to phrase her troubles. "Nothing."

"And by that you mean something deep down that I can't fix and you can't face in front of other people," said Milton, taking a seat beside her.

"That was very insightful for someone who can't convey emotion half as well as he'd like to," said Andrea, though Milton didn't know if she was teasing him or not.

"But I'm correct, aren't I? Is this about Phillip? Or before Woodbury?"

"It's about being alone," said Andrea, turning her pillow over to hide the tear stains. "I was so close to being alone again, and that's not something I can take. When you lose the only person you think you have left, you start to wonder how you'll keep going, _if_ you'll keep going, and then you contemplate the best means of suicide, but then you feel guilt for leaving the people around you just because you couldn't suck it up."

"I wouldn't know that feeling, but I understand why you do," said Milton, surprised, but pleased that Andrea was sitting here in the dark weeping out of partial relief that Milton had survived his illness. "You care for everyone here, but latching onto someone takes bravery, especially now when you don't know how long either of you have. And you've done that a few time already, haven't you? With your sister, and Dale, and Phillip."

"I'm so sick of living just to see people die around me. What's the damn point of living if it means we have to live in a world of death?"

"We always have lived in a world of death; it's just clearer to us now that there's so few of us. And you either get used to it and go numb to the pain, or you kill yourself inside every time until you're nothing. Phillip was part of the former until he lost Penny the second time, then he lost himself in revenge and that led to his demise. But the people here grow closer when they lose someone and even though it takes a while for them to trust others, they're willing to try, which is why they keep going. I keep saying it; these are good people, and I can thoroughly understand moral goodness."

"They are good people, but it's us against the world, Milton, and we can't win."

"We can by living, whatever that means to us."

"Are we just living because it's something to do? Why do we keep going with nothing to live for?"

"You have plenty to live for."

"Like what?"

"Your friends. They'd be devastated if you died."

"And what about you, Milton, what keeps you tethered to the world for what it is now?"

"You," said Milton plainly. "You've stayed loyal to me when faced with a threat on your own life and you've saved me multiple times, the last of which was bringing me that medication. When I see you doing all of this for me, I know that you genuinely want me here, so I'm inclined to try and survive. If my being alive makes you happy, I'll continue to be as long as I can."

Andrea held out her hand for Milton's and he took it without a single thought of his dislike for human touch. Andrea had helped him understand that this was a gesture people used to express gratitude when words failed them. He had become quite used to Andrea's hand in his from the times they had helped one another up after a fall, when she had grasped his out of fear when cornered by biters, when she wanted to spare him embarrassment in front of the others, and when she would sit for long hours on his bed beside him as he lay ill. His skin knew hers, knew where she had scars on her hand and where each vein and bone was. Repetition made for memory, and he remembered her touch more than he could remember his own parents' as they held him in the hopes of calming his fits.

"You've come a long way since Woodbury," said Andrea.

"I've had an excellent teacher," said Milton, allowing himself to give her fingers a comforting squeeze. He rose to leave, but Andrea kept hold of his hand.

"Stay with me for tonight."

It was not a thing unheard of since Milton and Andrea had spent many nights propped up next to each other on the bus, but they had always been in the company of others then. What would the rest of them say if they walked in and saw Milton and Andrea in the same bed?

"I don't know that that's such a good idea."

"I won't get any sleep tonight. Just sit with me, please."

"Okay."

The two of them sat on Andrea's bed with their backs to her pillows, saying nothing and staring at the door to the bathroom, but Andrea seemed calm, so Milton supposed it was worth it. Even if she didn't require sleep, however, Milton did, and he estimated that he had fallen asleep an hour or two before dawn, because when he awoke, it was to Merle standing in the doorway with a malicious-looking grin on his face.

"Well, now, has our Miltie become a man overnight?"

"I had a nightmare and asked him to stay nearby, asshole," said Andrea, though Milton noted Andrea's smile as she turned away from Merle.

"If you say so, honey," said Merle. "Miltie, get dressed; you're comin' with me t'stand guard."

"Two people don't need to stand guard on the same platform," said Milton, slowly easing himself up so as not to get dizzy.

"You're not tip-top yet, and Hershel wants me t'keep an eye on you while y'get used to bein' on your feet for long stretches again."

"What about Parker?" asked Andrea.

"He'll be on babysittin' duty," said Merle. "He ain't contagious, but he ain't strong like Miltie."

"Shove it up your ass, Merle," said Milton, going back through the bathroom to pick himself out a pair of clothes for the day. It took him about three minutes too long to do up the laces on his boots since his fingers didn't seem to be working, and as he brushed his teeth, he could smell the staleness on his breath, embarrassed that Andrea had been inhaling his stink all night.

Merle was waiting for him at the north end guard platform with a lighter weapon for Milton, which he handed off to him still leering.

"Stop looking at me like that," said Milton, checking his clip before tucking the pistol into his belt. He surveyed the ground on the other side of the wall and saw about five biters starting to walk towards him and Merle.

"You'n Andrea, huh? How was she?"

"Oh, grow up, Merle. Nothing happened, and it isn't your business. Besides, of the bachelors here, I think we all know who's had his eyes on her from the start. The way you look at her clearly expresses every desire you have, but she's not interested, so you'd be best served leaving her alone."

Merle laughed in a way that told Milton that his attempts at shielding Andrea were pathetically transparent.

"Not interested, Miltie? She's been a lonely woman since she'n the Governor broke it off, so I understand that it's taken her a long time t'start warmin' up t'men in that way, but she's on the prowl for physical satisfaction, and she's lookin' for the alpha male. That's who she goes for, so don't tell me she ain't interested in me. It's you she's not lookin' t'let into her pants."

"That's not relevant—"

"Sure it is. You're jealous've ol' Merle 'cause he might take your woman away. Y'say I've got horniness written all over m'face, but you ain't holdin' up very well in keepin' a poker face y'self. You want her."

It was such a difficult thing in trying to lie to Merle who may be stupid to a degree, but could pick out a fib from a mile away. But it wasn't his uncanny ability to sense lies that bothered Milton, it was how he used the lies to taunt and twist the conversation around. Infuriating, that's what it was.

"I want her to be safe and happy," said Milton carefully. "You'd take advantage of her and I'm not going to stand for it."

"Look here, y'little shit, weeks've livin' in the same house as you ain't changed nothin' 'tween us. I ain't no more hesitant t'kill you now than I was the day y'arrived at the prison'n tried t'stab my brother with a scalpel. I didn't like you in Woodbury, I didn't like you in the prison, an' I pretty much hate your pathetic ass now just 'cause I can, so if you got a problem with me'n _your lady_, you'd best keep it to y'self 'cause whatever we do sexually ain't none've your business."

Merle had used the term "do" and not "done" in the past-tense form, but that didn't mean that he and Andrea hadn't already been together and the thought was one that Milton couldn't take. Knowing that his best friend was lying with his worst acquaintance would be unbearable and, if he could understand the use of the term, heartbreaking. Only last night Andrea had wept for Milton…she wouldn't have been having sex with Merle at the same time, would she?

Milton's words got scrambled on the way out of his mouth. "You didn't—you haven't—"

"If we did, like I said, it ain't none've your business," said Merle, clearly relishing the confusion on Milton's face. "There, that shutchoo up quick, didn't it? But if you wanna be the emotional outlet she needs, I ain't stoppin' ya. It ain't my territory when she gets weepy, so feel free t'provide that strong shoulder t'cry on. But what we got goin' on has nothin' t'do with any sensations above the belt-line. So far."

"You stay away from her," said Milton. "She got involved with two of the wrong men who hurt her and left her worse off than if she had never known them. You're just like them and I will make you extremely sorry if you hurt her."

"You're comparin' me t'the Governor?"

"Phillip had few redeeming qualities; you have none," said Milton scathingly.

Merle drove his fist into Milton's gut, grabbed Milton's head by the ears, and pulled it down onto his knee so that tears sprang into Milton's eyes as his nose nearly broke.

"Redeem that, y'pansy ass fruit fuck."

With a sound like a charging bull if that bull had asthma, Milton tried to knock Merle over by grabbing him around the midsection, but Merle steered him around and held him out with his only hand so that Milton's upper body was completely visible to the biters below. Milton gripped Merle's forearm like a vice, holding on for dear life. It was evident that Merle wanted Milton to feel completely unsupported and in danger of falling into death's embrace below.

"I could've dropped you once before. I can do it now, d'you believe that?"

"I think you could, but I know you won't."

Merle loosened his grip on Milton's shirt so that the biters could nearly reach Milton's clothes, if they had sense enough to jump. Milton clung to Merle's arm, looking up at him with nothing but hate. He knew what Merle wanted him to do now; he had to beg and ask forgiveness. Merle was demanding payment for sparing Milton's life.

"Fuck you, Merle Dixon, I'm not begging."

"That's a shame."

Milton heard the click of a gun and Merle glanced back over his shoulder to look at someone Milton couldn't see.

"Y'sure healed fast, didn'tcha?"

"Bring him back in or you'll get two bullets in the legs and one in the ass," said the voice of Parker.

"Y'put a bullet in me'n we're both goin' over."

"I'll do it, Merle, don't think that just because I'm the newcomer that I won't. You'd best not push me; I'm already hyped up on drugs."

"Go ahead, pretty boy."

"Merle!'

Milton heard footsteps pounding towards them, felt the platform move slightly as someone climbed up the ladder, and then saw Daryl as he took hold of his brother's arm.

"Are you outta your goddamn mind? Turn 'im loose!"

"Back off," said Merle.

"Y'gonna throw everythin' you worked for away just 'cause Milton ain't afraid t'speak his mind? He's earned his place, now put 'im down."

Milton felt a biter's fingernails scrape against his pants. He put his hand on his pistol, ready to use it on himself if Merle decided to drop him…but Merle reeled him back in and threw him down on the platform.

"Cross me again, y'piece've shit, and I'll kill you myself."

Milton used his shirt to stem the flow of blood from his nose as Merle took off in a huff, followed by Daryl, and Parker slowly climbed the ladder to come to Milton's aid.

"Your timing was impeccable," said Milton as Parker helped him sit up.

"For a second there, I thought he was going to let you fall."

"He wouldn't have, he just wants me to know that he could. He knows that I'm no match for him on any front, and he used that to prove a point."

"What point?"

"That when the time comes, I'm the first one he's going to kill."


	27. Chapter 27: Misread and Misunderstood

**ANDREA**

"What the hell happened to your nose?"

Andrea moved aside as Milton walked into the kitchen with the heel of his hand pressed to his nostrils to stem the blood pouring out of them, though the front of his shirt was already completely stained. Andrea took a towel from the counter, ran it under cold water, and replaced Milton's hand with it. She examined his nose and found a break in the skin that suggested that he might have fractured the bone.

"Accident," said Milton nasally. "Out on the platform."

"And Merle didn't help you?"

"He got called away for a second by Rick."

That was one pile of bullshit Andrea didn't believe. Rick had given instructions to Merle to stay with Milton lest he become dizzy and hurt himself, and for Rick to go back on his own orders and call Merle away, it made no sense. Either Merle had left Milton to guard by himself and Milton had had the accident after, or Merle was the cause of the accident.

"Was this Merle?" asked Andrea.

"What?"

"Don't insult my intelligence, Milton, I know this has something to do with him. What happened? Did he hit you?"

Milton swallowed so that Andrea could see his blood-stained Adams apple rise and fall in hesitation. "I hit him first."

Taking the towel away to see if the blood had stopped yet, Andrea wiped Milton's upper lip and chin, cursing Merle under her breath.

"What were you two arguing about this time?"

"Nothing of significance."

Andrea stared Milton in the face until he broke eye contact and looked down.

"Do you think I'm that stupid, Milton? If it's you and Merle, the argument is _always_ about something significant because you don't argue over petty things, now tell me what it was."

"It was about you," said Milton. Perhaps it was the after-effect of having blood all over his face, but he looked unusually red.

"What, did he call me a rugmuncher again and you tried to defend my honor? I'm flattered, Milton, but I don't need any chivalrous acts from you when Merle's insults don't even faze me anymore."

"No, he kept up a façade that he and you were sleeping together," said Milton, and Andrea was sure that the redness was an actual blush.

"So you hit him?"

"He was flaunting it in my face."

"He was flaunting a lie in your face, that's what he was doing."

"If he had you on his own, he'd push for it," said Milton quickly, watching her for reaction. "He's the dominant male around here, even Rick knows it. Rick may be the one calling the shots, but Merle's worked his way up to a lieutenant and he could take over at any time if he wanted to because he's stronger, more experienced, and wily. And you're the alpha female, so Merle's bull-headed Neanderthal instincts are telling him that he needs to secure his place by being with you. It's not just for your body; he admires your intuitiveness and your—"

"Merle hasn't had a sexual outlet in a long time and I'm one of four women, two of whom are spoken for. He tried to kill Michonne, so there's a relationship that's never going to work. I just tolerate him because I think I can smooth out those rough edges, and if he wants to flirt along the way, so be it. It won't amount to anything."

"He's tried to be like this before with some women in Woodbury and it turned nasty—"

"I don't think you're seeing things for what they are, Milton. Maybe it's time to give those glasses a good scrubbing."

"Glasses don't make me blind to everything when I don't have them on and even with my limited knowledge of the human capacity for affection, I see the way you look at him and can piece together the result. Merle is a man with no boundaries and he wouldn't think twice about being with you, but you already made the mistake of bedding the wrong man before and it nearly cost you your life. I can't let you get hurt like that again and especially not on Merle Dixon's behalf."

Andrea could have slapped him, but given that it was Milton whose trust she had had to build up from scratch, striking him now would probably send her right back to square one, so she refrained and instead let loose on him verbally.

"How dare you? You don't know one fucking thing about me, Milton Mamet, and now you think you can tell me that you think I'm a whore? I shouldn't have to explain myself to anyone, least of all you, but you might find these facts interesting: I'm trying to help Merle overcome his fear of physical touch like someone else I could mention because while you were physically neglected as a child, he was abused. He needs my help just as much as you do, and if in the process of helping him, something more develops, that's none of your concern. If I want to engage in sex, I will, and I'll do it with whomever I want. I think you're just experiencing jealousy for the first time that you weren't on the top of my list to bang."

She had hurt him with these words. For someone like Milton whose expression was blank over ninety percent of the time, Andrea had never seen so much pain on his face before. He already had childish features, but he looked like a child now after being told by his parents that they had wished they had aborted him. Milton swallowed hard, his fingers digging into his knees and with a nod of understanding, he stood up, hurrying away.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

"God, Milton, I didn't mean that, wait!"

Andrea rushed after him, but he could certainly move quickly when he wanted to and he was leaving her behind as he rushed out the front door, so she ran to keep pace. She caught his arm, but he wrenched himself free so she grabbed him from behind, forcing his knees to buckle with her weight. He didn't make a sound, but he tried to push her off of him with little success, though she suspected that he wasn't fully committing to the effort.

"Okay, okay, enough. Sit up."

Milton shoved her away again, pushing himself up onto his knees.

"Let me explain myself better," said Andrea, but Milton was already turning away. "Milton, I want to talk!"

"Then talk, but don't say anything to me," said Milton haughtily.

"I need to talk to you, though—"

"Don't," said Milton, spinning around to face her, and now she could tell that he was angry by the way his eyebrows had gone flat instead of turned upwards. "Don't use me. Someone else already did and it didn't work out that well for either of us."

"I'm not _using_ you."

"All that bullshit you fed me about me being all you have left was just you spilling out your insecurities and concerns onto someone who you knew could bear the weight of them. You used me as an outlet while you were sleeping with Merle. Maybe I don't understand humans all that well, but even I can tell you that leading someone on by pretending to give a shit about them is low."

"Milton—"

But he hurried away and this time Andrea didn't go after him. Instead, she clomped over to where Merle sat on the porch of the light grey house and with her hands resting on her hips in the only way she knew how to make herself appear taller, she confronted him.

"What did you say to Milton?"

"You're gonna have t'be more specific, honey, I say a lotta things t'that boy," said Merle with one foot resting atop the porch railing as he leaned back in the rocking chair.

"You took him out for watch duty and he comes back with a nearly broken nose, accuses me of sleeping with you, and walks off in a high dudgeon. What did you say to him?" Andrea demanded.

"Apparently somethin' that got his pretty lil' balls in a knot, 'cause he made a swing at me."

"Merle!"

"Alright, alright, I was havin' some fun; got into some good-natured teasin' 'bout you'n me bumpin' together and he decided that he was gonna be the macho man've honor. I told 'im I was only jokin', but you know he can't take a joke, so he lost his temper. I hit 'im back."

"Dammit, Merle, you can't _do_ that with him!" cried Andrea in exasperation. "He doesn't think in terms of humor; he doesn't understand sarcasm when it's used against him. Taunting him only made it worse, so of course he was going to hit you."

"Ain't my fault if that bucket've piss can't take a joke."

"He has a delicate mind, Merle, and I've spent weeks trying to get through to him!"

"Hey, I ain't gonna change my personality just 'cause he's fucked up in the brain. He had a problem and he approached it by pickin' a fight, so I responded. And you're not helpin' by lettin' 'im sleep on your bed, 'cause now he feels like he's gotta defend his girl."

"This isn't the nineteenth century. I'm not his."

"Oh, wake up, Blondie, y'know he wants you."

"You—"

"Merle, I thought you were on patrol," said Rick, ambling up the path with his hand on his holster.

"I was until about five minutes ago," said Merle indifferently. "Andrea's supposed to take over from there."

"I didn't know it was my watch," Andrea told Rick. "And _you_," she added, pointing to Merle, "haven't been on watch since you hit Milton twenty minutes ago, so the platform's been empty for all this time."

"Someone was there on the platform just a few minutes ago," said Rick.

With a fleeting look to share between the three of them, they all took off for the north platform, scaled the ladder, and looked down. There was no one in sight, but there were two fallen walkers at the foot of the rope ladder that had been lowered.

"Who left the ladder down?" asked Rick furiously. "Why is suddenly everybody being careless?" He turned back to Andrea and Merle for answers. "What the hell is going on?"

Merle shrugged, leaning out to examine the manner in which the walkers had been put down.

"Who had watch before you?"

"Hans," said Merle.

Rick was about to call for him, but Hans was already climbing up the ladder, apparently drawn in by seeing Andrea, Rick, and Merle run for the platform.

"What's going on?"

"Did you throw down the ladder?"

"No—"

"Someone did!"

"Milton," said Merle, pointing out the head shots in the walkers' brains. "Medium-sized blade, wounds pointed downward 'cause whoever stabbed 'em came at 'em from down low. We all know Miltie can't fight worth a damn and lets biters get in close before he realizes that he's gotta kill 'em again. Plus, who's the only dumbass here who'd leave the ladder down?"

"What reason would Milton have to go out into the woods?" Hans questioned, scanning the surrounding area with his binoculars. "Daryl's on the hunt now; we don't need food or supplies right this second, and besides Merle or Daryl, we're supposed to go in teams."

"It doesn't matter, we have to go after him," said Andrea. "He's not thinking clearly and he'll get himself killed."

"I'd say he's thinkin' clearer than he has in ages, Blondie," said Merle. "He's got a set goal in mind, and he's gonna accomplish it, biters be damned. I seen 'im when he focuses on somethin' with that kind've insane passion; he'll be fine."

Andrea didn't feel comforted by this knowledge at all. If Milton had a goal, it was to take out as many walkers as he could while he was still running off of his rage-filled adrenaline, and once that wore out, he would come to his senses and realize how very alone and exposed he was. He would need her when that time came.

"Everyone stays here," said Rick as if guessing Andrea's thoughts.

"If you're going to leave him out there because he made a rash decision—"

"Stop," said Rick. "I asked him that day at the prison if he was with us and he said yes, so I gave him a chance. He stayed with us, he earned his place, he's one've us, but I'm not riskin' more've our already limited manpower to go lookin' for him right now. There's a good chance Daryl will find him and bring him back, and if that doesn't happen, we wait until sundown. If he's not back by then, I'll send out two people at a time, but we're not startin' a search party until we've got reason to suspect that he needs one."

"Of course he needs one. This is _Milton_ we're talking about."

"And you, of all people, should give him more credit than you are," said Hans. "He's learned how to take care of himself and he'll do that. He'll come back when he's ready or when he knows that the rest of us will be on our way out to go look for him."

/ /

As it turned out, Milton did not come back when he was ready, but rather at the insistence of Daryl who was pulling him along. Andrea raised the call to alert the others and then threw down the ladder. She offered out her hand to Milton, but he refused her help, shimmying across the platform on his stomach to get the rest of his body off of the ladder and Daryl came after with a catch of wild game.

Rick let Milton be and questioned Daryl instead as the others watched Milton march back towards the house he shared with Andrea and half of the group. Andrea tried to start a conversation with him, but he was deaf to her pleas and left her standing on the garden path with a word of relief and a half-formed apology on her lips.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Hans as they heard Milton's door slam somewhere in the house.

"He's butthurt 'cause he can't get it up in time before somebody steals his woman," said Merle.

Andrea turned around and struck Merle across the face, leaving an angry red mark the size and shape of her fist. Merle stepped back more out of surprise than pain.

"You are such an asshole," Andrea spat at him, stomping up the porch steps to go after Milton. She had just reached the staircase when Merle caught up to her and grabbed her elbow with a fierce grip that made his fingernails dig into her skin. She tried to push him away, but he forced her against the wall.

"Hey, you listen here, dammit," he cursed in a low voice, though with his temper, Andrea knew it was bound to reach a peak in about a minute. "I don't agree with that snot-nosed sack've shit upstairs on most anythin', but I think he's right in givin' you the cold shoulder, woman. Y'can't build up this confidence in him'n me and then shoot us down when we do somethin' you don't like."

"Like what?" Andrea challenged.

"Like gettin' all emotional'n weepy with me when I helped you get them pills and then turnin' around and smackin' me 'cross the face when I tell it like it is."

"You deserved that for being two-faced."

"Yeah, you're right, but at least people can see it now. Someone needs t'leave a mark on you so that everybody knows you are too."

Almost nothing Merle said could possibly hurt Andrea because she had built up an immunity to his insults and learned to decipher which ones he actually meant. He certainly meant this one, and it hurt far worse than anything he had thrown at her before. Both Merle and Milton thought she was a backstabber and a whore.

"Get your hand off of me," said Andrea since she had no other response to give.

Merle released her and flicked his tongue, though not in a way that suggested that he wanted to sleep with her. There was something reptilian about that gesture. Snakelike.

He left her at the foot of the stairs as he went to his bedroom and slammed the door much louder than Milton had managed to slam his. Andrea sank down to sit on the bottom step, tugging at her hair until it hurt as she thought of these two impossible men. No one could say that she hadn't given it her best shot to make Milton and Merle feel included in the group, but what was it that had just thrown all of her work out the window? Jealousy? Misunderstanding? Insensitivity?

_"Oh, wake up, Blondie, y'know he wants you."_

_ "You're the alpha female…he needs to secure his place by being with you."_

Both men thought the other was vying for Andrea's attention. But she didn't see either of them as potential romantic partners. She had sworn off that type of affection after Phillip's betrayal and neither Milton nor Merle had the qualities that she was looking for anyway…

But it wasn't like she had a lot of options. And if she honestly weighed the options she had, Milton was much more compatible than Merle, but also completely opposite from everything Andrea had sought for in a man before. Merle was like Shane and Phillip: hot-tempered, cunning, silver-tongued, and dominant. Milton was like Dale: overly inquisitive, prying, secluded, and the voice of reason. These attributes weren't their fault, however, it was just the way they were built, and Andrea had failed to compare them to their predecessors because she hadn't realized that they were looking for more than just friendship with her. She had unknowingly been sending out the wrong signals and now both of them couldn't stand to be in the same room with her because they felt betrayed.

"They'll come around."

Andrea looked up to see Michonne sitting beside her. When she had snuck in or how she had managed to on this squeaky hardwood floor was anyone's guess, but Andrea was grateful to have her here now.

"It'll take some time, but they'll come around," Michonne assured her.

"I'm not so sure," said Andrea. "When I realized that I'd accidentally driven them away, I said things that made damn sure they weren't going to be coming back."

"Merle can't keep quiet. He always has to say something about someone and he'll be the first one to come back. Milton might need some outside coaxing, but he knows that you're the one true friend he has and that you wouldn't throw that away over Merle of all people."

"When did you become so observational about emotional things?" asked Andrea in pleased surprise.

"Around you, emotions always come out."


	28. Chapter 28: Agreements and Pleas

**MERLE**

"He has to come out sometime," said Parker over dinner as he, Merle, Daryl, Michonne, and Hans sat at the kitchen island picking at cornmeal and gopher.

Merle, who hadn't seen Milton in four days and hadn't spoken to Andrea in just as many, wasn't concerned in the least, but he had to admit that a future with no Milton to make fun of and no Andrea to throw sexual innuendos at was looking quite bleak. Parker had been locked out of his and Milton's shared room and was now sleeping on the couch on the main floor, which scared the shit out of Merle when he came down at three in the morning looking for a light snack. It was Rick who suggested giving Milton time to cool off once Merle and Andrea explained (separately, of course) what had gotten Milton upset in the first place.

"He'll come out when he's ready," said Hans, fishing a chunk of gopher out of his bowl and wrinkling his nose at it.

"How d'we know he didn't just die up there or maybe kill 'imself?" asked Daryl, running his finger around the rim of his own bowl to get every last bit of food.

"For one, he ain't got the balls t'do it 'imself," said Merle. "And I've heard 'im takin' a piss at odd hours when he thinks everyone's asleep; if he was a biter, he wouldn't be needin' t'do that, would he?"

"That could've been Andrea," Parker reasoned. "They're still sharing that bathroom."

"And Milton could've hung 'imself," Daryl chipped in, "We'd never've known—"

"Why don't you all stop discussing how you think he offed himself and go up there to check on him?" Michonne suggested.

"We've all tried already," said Hans. "He wouldn't open it for any of us."

"Not everyone's tried," said Parker as he spooned the last of his meal into Daryl's bowl, looking green in the face again. "Rick did, but Beth was going to have a shot at it by pretending that she needed someone to watch the baby."

"He's smart enough not to fall for that," said Michonne with a roll of her eyes.

"You never know. Beth can be very persuasive."

Merle tried to contain a snort, but only succeeded in nearly making a loogie shoot out of his nose, so he wiped the back of his hand across his nostrils and jabbed his spoon at Parker. "We all know how persuasive she can be, Parker, but I think you'd know best."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Parker tersely.

"Oh, don't you two start," said Hans before Merle could respond. "That last thing we need is for you to be at each other's throats and then one of you finds a room to lock himself up in. We're some of the last adults in this world, fucking act like it, will you?"

They heard the front door open and uneven footfalls followed by Maggie and Beth's voices as they tried to dissuade their father from whatever it was he was about to do.

"Daddy, he doesn't want to see anyone."

"If Andrea can't reach him, I doubt you can."

"This has gone far enough," said Hershel, and Merle was actually pleased to hear how angry the old man sounded. In his heyday, Hershel probably could have given Merle a tussle for his money, but in his wizened age, his voice was enough to command authority. "We're a group, and to function as a group we need everyone doin' their part. Hidin' up here because of a bruised ego and an injured heart is not an acceptable excuse for lettin' the rest of us down."

Merle heard Hershel's hobbled footsteps and then a pounding on Milton's door.

"Milton, you open this door right now."

"I'd rather not, and I can guarantee that if you could see me now, you wouldn't want me to go anywhere near that door," came Milton's reluctant reply.

"I wouldn't be standin' out here preparin' to blast a hole through it if I didn't want you to come outta there."

"Feel free to break the door down, but it won't make me come out."

"Now you sound like a child throwin' a tantrum. There's not a shroud of common sense in what you just said, but if you're gonna act like a kid I'm gonna treat you like one. I'll count to three and then I'm comin' in."

"I'm asking you to just leave me alone in here until I want to come out. I don't trust myself around other people right now."

"You're backpedalin' on everythin' you've worked for, son, and if you don't get help, you'll be in that room for the rest've your life."

"However short that may be," Merle mumbled into his cup.

"If you can think of a better solution than me taking a bat to Merle Dixon's face the next time I see him, I'll open the door," said Milton after a brief pause.

"There's tons of loopholes in that proposal," Parker observed. "Hershel just has to say that Milton could take a tennis racket to Merle's face instead."

"Don't think I won't knock out all them pretty white teeth just 'cause you're still on the mend," said Merle, holding up his middle finger to Parker as he used his spoon to scoop up the last of his cornmeal.

"_Shhh_," said Hans as the sound of the door opening upstairs reached them.

"That's another thing," Merle stated, slapping his cloth napkin down on the counter to address Hans. "What is it with you always shushin' people? I'm so damn tired of hearin' '_shhhh'_ every time we get a good argument goin'. Say that one more time t'my face and I'll—"

"Merle, my dad wants to speak with you in the livin' room," said Maggie, popping her head into the kitchen.

"Is the social recluse in there?" asked Merle.

"Yes."

"Then I ain't goin' in."

Daryl, Parker, Michonne, and Hans all pushed against Merle's back at the same time so that he was forced to walk out into the hall, then take a sharp left into the living room where Hershel was sitting on the larger of the two couches with Milton at his side. The old man motioned for Merle to sit on the smaller sofa, as far away as Merle could be from Milton while still sitting. Rick and Andrea followed Merle and the others in so that everyone except the children were present.

"Is this an intervention?"

"Something to that effect," said Hershel, patting the sofa armrest and Merle flumped down, resting one foot on the coffee table.

"I've spoken to Milton about this and also to Rick, and we've agreed that the best thing to do to avoid further conflict is to separate you two."

"That's it?" said Merle. He had expected a four hour speech on the importance of all humans coping with their fellow survivors to live another day.

"No, it isn't," said Hershel. "We need to establish what that phrase means."

"If we're going to continue living like this for as long as we can, I will not condone any more self-righteous shit from him," said Milton. "He's an abusive, egocentric bully—"

"You're just too delicate t'handle it, son."

"Merle, shut up," pleaded Daryl.

"If he puts his hands on me again or does anything to antagonize me, that'll be it. I've let him walk all over me and bury my face in the ground as he wipes the shit off of his boot and into my hair. Just let it happen one more time and I'll put a bullet in his useless fucking face," Milton told the others without looking at Merle, and the fact that he didn't have the balls to look Merle in the face as he said it was the last straw.

Merle drew back his fist to really break Milton's nose this time, but Hans intercepted him, blocking the attack and pushing Merle's arm away. Shoving Hans aside and knocking him over the couch, Merle turned his back fleetingly on Milton, bringing his right leg up and in a wide circle to come around and clout Milton in the side of the head with his ankle. Milton had seen Merle use this attack dozens of times in the Woodbury arena, but Merle was betting that the little fucker wouldn't have expected to see it used on him, and he was right. Dazed by the hit, Milton fell sideways into the reclining chair where Parker sat, sending both of them into a sprawled mess on the floor.

Taking advantage of Merle's pause, Hans moved back in front of him, daring him to try pushing him aside again. At the same time, Milton stood up and raised his own fists to defend himself, prompting Rick and Michonne to drive him back. Merle tried to get around Hans when he felt someone jump on him from behind and hold on tight to his neck.

"Calm down!" shouted Beth's voice next to Merle's ear as he tried to throw her off.

Parker and Daryl joined in to restrain Merle while Maggie and Andrea guided Milton out of the room.

"Get off!" Merle hollered.

"You'd better quit it right now, or this is gonna get ugly real fast," Daryl warned.

"As long as he's involved, it'll always be ugly," came Milton's voice from the hall.

"Bring your lil' punk ass back in here, boy, I'll skin you alive!" Merle bellowed.

What happened next was something Merle never would have expected as Hershel held out his pistol to Merle. "You wanna ruin everythin' you've accomplished since leavin' Woodbury, take this gun and shoot yourself through the head." Merle stopped fighting back, but remained upright with Parker tugging on his handicapped arm, Hans hanging off of his other, Beth still clinging to his neck, and Daryl trying to bring him down in a choker hold.

"You put effort into gettin' this far, but if you're willin' to throw all've that away because you don't know when to quit, save yourself the trouble and put a cap in your own skull."

Merle straightened up, prompting Beth to slide off of his back and Daryl to release his hold on Merle's neck, though Hans and Parker didn't let go of his arms. Regarding the pistol with uncertainty, Merle glanced from it to Hershel.

"If y'want me gone or dead, y'just gotta say so, old timer."

"I want your head screwed on right, son. I want it out've your ass and in a position t'think about someone other than yourself for once. We need you, we need Milton, and if you make a move t'hurt him, we lose both've you. The only way I don't see that happenin' is if you avoid each other completely. Unless there's an emergency or meeting that calls for the two've you t'be in close proximity to each other, don't go anywhere near him. Don't talk to him, don't look at him, don't come within twenty feet of him. Children can handle those directions just fine; let's see if grown adults can too."

/ /

Grown adults could handle a simple arrangement such as the one Hershel and Rick had decided upon, but sometimes adults needed an outlet, and that was just what Merle needed as well. He knew he couldn't very well leave his post on watch duty, so he waited until Parker came to take over for him to jump the wall and head off into the woods to find himself a biter or two whose brains he could bash in. What he hadn't anticipated, though, was Parker abandoning that same post to come after Merle.

"Get back t'your post, pretty boy, or better yet, get lost."

"No one goes outside the wall after dark alone," said Parker, treading after him and making almost no noise.

"Them rules're for the general population, not the hunter gatherers," said Merle.

"Well, the fact that I'm with a hunter gatherer should make up for me breaking curfew, then," said Parker brightly.

"Lemme rephrase this: beat it or I'll—"

But Merle was cut off before he could promise Parker a painful death as Parker made a _kill the music_ gesture and knelt down. Merle followed suit, hearing voices not far off and concluding that there was maybe four or five men headed this way. He and Parker were hidden in the bushes, but they could see flashlights bobbing in the darkness about a quarter of a mile off. The people holding the flashlights weren't troubling to keep their voices down at all, something born of either confidence in numbers of arrogance and stupidity. As they drew closer, Merle could make out what they were calling.

"Come back to Terminus, Eddie."

Merle froze wondering who Eddie was and if he had possibly passed by Groverfield earlier that day, but immediately unfroze when he realized that Parker knew about Terminus and therefore must know about Eddie. And for those bits of coincidental information to fall into place at this moment was enough for Merle to suspect that Parker might draw on him at any second. He brought his assault rifle to Parker's head.

"You lyin' son've a bitch—"

"No, _listen_," Parker pleaded and Merle heard the voices calling again, though this time it sounded more like taunting.

"Come on home, Eddie. You don't belong out here. Come home to your nice, soft bed. Come back to that taste of fresh food."

"Your sister misses you, Eddie."

"Gareth misses you too."

"So they are lookin' for you. You've got a sister, don'tcha?"

"They want to drag me back there," said Parker, and it was clear that he was terrified, for he had thrown up his hands to show Merle he meant no harm. "It's been weeks, Merle, why would I have someone weeks behind me to attack your people? The fact that they came by here is just coincidence."

"I should let 'em have you if you're gonna be this much trouble protectin', _Eddie_."

"I don't need protection. If you want to send me on my way, I'll go—"

"You're not goin' nowhere. How d'we know you ain't gonna go right back t'the Termites'n tell 'em where we are?"

"Because I'm a good person. Even with them force-feeding me and beating the shit out of me, I still managed to remain a good person and I thought you people were too. Most of your friends trust me now. I saved Milton's life and Beth's and even Carl's. I saved yours at the wall and you'd hand me back over to the Termites after that?"

"No, I'd hand you back just 'cause I don't like you. It don't add up t'me. Why're the Termites still lookin' for your sorry ass two months after y'left? Y'must be worth more'n you're lettin' on if they ain't given up the search yet. If they thought y'couldn't survive on your own, they'da figured you t'be long dead by now, so why're they all the way out here now? Can't be t'help recruit more cannibals. Do they think your face is just too handsome t'let go?"

"You know why they kept my face intact, Merle? Because they liked me pretty for when they fucked me. That's what they do to half the people who say no before they eat them; they rape them. And they raped me a lot. Happy now, or do you want to see my abused asshole to be satisfied?"

Merle had met a lot of men like himself who had been kicked around by their fathers. He had met women who had been raped by family, friends, and strangers. But he had never met a man like Parker who had been used as something of a sex slave by cannibals after the world went to shit and still managed to have the strength to flee. Despite the odds stacked against him, Parker was made of sterner stuff than Merle originally thought. The man was almost as badass as Merle when he had to saw off his own hand. Almost.

"I'm used to begging," said Parker when Merle still hadn't spoken. "I had to beg them to stop hurting me, otherwise they'd keep going all night. I had to beg them to take my sister and me in. So I'll beg you now, please—"

"Don't," said Merle. He didn't know if he just couldn't stand to hear Parker submit himself, but Merle did not want the man pleading for anything from him—ever. "You can stay s'far as I'm concerned an' I won't tell no one 'bout this, but you gotta forget we had this conversation. You gotta start over'n forget 'bout Terminus too. I don't ever wanna hear 'bout the place or the people ever again, unnerstand?"

"I can do that."


	29. Chapter 29: A Far Way to Come

**MILTON**

"Yo, Milt, I'm goin' out huntin', throw down the ladder, will ya?" called Daryl as he approached the west guard platform.

Milton shouldered his rifle, unraveled the rope ladder, and helped Daryl up the last few rungs of the wooden one connected to the side of the platform. He saw that Daryl had his coat with him as if he expected to be caught out in the cold at some point even though it was a relatively warm day for January.

"Big game, or small?" asked Milton.

"We'll see. Saw some deer yesterday about a mile out, gonna try for a doe if I can. Be back by sundown," said Daryl as he lowered himself over the other side of the wall and started off into the woods.

Milton was just pulling up the last bit of the ladder when Andrea came up and joined him to switch out positions. Without a word, Milton handed her his rifle and binoculars, but as he made to leave, Andrea spoke in a rare occurrence since Milton had shut her out.

"I was babysitting Judith when I remembered it was my turn for duty, so I left in a hurry. Merle's with her now, but she does better with you, so if you wouldn't mind taking over until Beth or Carl can get to her…"

"Okay."

Once upon a time the words "babysitting Judith" would have installed terror within him, but by observing Beth and Parker caring for the baby and gradually building up to the role of babysitter himself, Milton found that he didn't mind in the least now. Also, he was all the more eager to go to her when he knew that Merle had been left in charge of her. Judith didn't dislike Merle, but Milton didn't agree with Merle's babysitting methods like putting her in the carrier strapped to his back while on patrol or trying to give her adult food instead of mashed whatnots and formula.

He heard Merle before he saw him.

"Why is it that every time I'm stuck with you, you've just taken a massive shit? Where the hell d'they keep your diapers, kid?"

As Milton stood in the doorway, he was actually slightly amused at the sight that welcomed him. Merle had Judith resting on his hip and her drool towel draped over his shoulder as he searched the room for her diaper bag, swearing every time a new location yielded nothing. Glad that the baby could not yet form coherent speech, much less understand any words, Milton stepped into view and held out his arms.

"Give her to me."

It was the first time he had spoken to Merle in over a month and the first time the two had been alone in the same room in two. In fact, the last time they had been within four feet of each other was the day Hershel and Rick agreed to keep them separated for the good of the group. Merle was slow to look up at him from where he knelt rummaging in the DVD cabinet, but at this point, if he tried to say or do anything that violated the terms, he would suffer consequences and with it being about mid-January, it was the worst possible time to be thrown out of Groverfield.

Merle handed Judith to Milton and tossed the towel at him where it landed quite neatly on his shoulder. Milton set her on his own hip opposite his pistol and resumed the search for the diaper bag. As he leaned to look behind the giant armchair, he felt his pistol leave its holster and stood back up, rotating on the spot to face Merle. Surely, Merle wouldn't shoot him now, what with the baby in his arms? But then again, no one had the right to be sure of anything where Merle was concerned.

As it so happened, Merle was simply switching the safety on before he stuck the weapon back into Milton's holster. Milton must have forgotten to do it himself after his turn at patrol. Without a word, Merle left, and Milton went over to the next room to look for the diaper bag. He was still in search of it and trying to keep Judith's fussing to a minimum when Maggie found him and led him to Rick's room where four drawers from the dresser were filled with baby supplies. Milton would never have thought to check here since he was rarely upstairs in the Grimes and Greene house.

Maggie took sympathy on Milton's clumsy way with the diapers and wipes and thankfully changed Judith herself, applying rash powder for the baby's comfort. Milton tried not to gag on the smell, something that he, unlike Merle, had been lucky enough up to this point to not have experienced in full. Snapping Judith's onesie back up, Maggie made a few nonsensical sounds to amuse the baby and gave her back to Milton.

"That day in the prison when I first saw you sittin' there with Beth and the baby, I was ready to stab your eyes out. I didn't want you anywhere near my sister or Judith, and I was wonderin' that why you were there since you didn't look like y'wanted to be," said Maggie, clapping Judith's hands together as the baby giggled.

"Thank you for your self-restraint," said Milton.

"I'd trust you with both've their lives now," said Maggie. "And I'm sorry that I ever judged you based off've what I knew about the Governor. I should've said it when I saw that you'd left him and left the one place you felt safe to come to the people who'd shot at you in the arena. I'm sorry for the things I said to you at the cabin. You're a good man, Milton, and I'm glad you're here."

Feeling that it was expected of him to say something of equal significance to her in return for her declaration of acceptance, Milton said the first thing that popped into his head, which probably wasn't the best subject to bring up, especially since the last time he had spoken of it, Maggie had pulled a gun on him.

"I'm sorry that my actions brought about the turn of events that caused Glenn's death."

Maggie faltered only slightly before responding. "I'm sorry the two've you didn't get the chance to know each other better. I know he would've forgiven you too and that you'd have agreed on a lot've things. But I'm better now. I'm not the way I was, but I'm happier."

"Hans has helped with that, I presume."

After he said it, he realized (given Andrea's lessons on sensitivity in conversation) that that was a very bold and inappropriate statement, but Maggie smiled slightly.

"Yeah, he has. He's been good to me, very kind, and understanding."

"Did he tell you about his wife, then?"

"He did, and that mutual loss has helped us get to know each other better. It helps to have someone, y'know? Just someone who'll be there and listen to anythin' you wanna say, no matter how stupid or selfish it is. When there's so many emotions goin' through your head on a daily basis, you can't hold that in or it'll break you."

Milton nodded absentmindedly in agreement until he realized that Maggie was giving him a deliberate look.

"What?"

"Andrea," said Maggie. "She's that person for you, and you need her."

"We thought it best to go our separate ways for the time being," said Milton.

"No, _you_ decided that. I'm not sayin' what she said was justified, but she loves you and even the people who love you say things they don't mean. I think she wants to talk to you about it, but she's afraid to push you even further away, so you'll haveta make the first move on the road to healin'."

With those words of wisdom, Maggie returned to her chores so that Milton had to try and get an answer out of the baby to make up for the one he didn't get from Maggie. Milton had only ever heard himself and Merle speak to Judith like an adult because he thought that if babies were to grown and excel in brain activity that they needed to be spoken to with maturity and Merle just didn't give a shit.

"I don't suppose you'd know the best way to start a sincere apology, would you?"

Judith made an educated _blrrrrghhhb_ sound and a dribble of drool came out of the side of her mouth as she gave a toothless grin. Milton had to use the towel to wipe her chin and then set her against his shoulder to try and burp her.

"Thanks anyway."

He walked around the house with her in this position, counting windows and trying to estimate how many boards of wood would be needed to secure each of them in case of an attack. It was only when he saw his reflection in the microwave window did he see that Judith was asleep and he crept back upstairs to lay her down on Rick's bed and cover her with a throw blanket.

He felt someone's arm slide across his throat and in a brief moment of panic, went for his gun, but then he heard Parker's stifled laughter as he ruffled Milton's hair. Milton understood this to be what other people called a "noogie", but he didn't understand the concept. It was meant to be an action of endearment between friends, but the receiving friend ended up with a sore spot on the top of head. Still, when he would have gone into a fit months ago, he now only had an elevated heartbeat and wriggled out of Parker's hold in a way that he hoped wouldn't offend him.

Even more unexpected than this surprise faux-strangle was Beth sliding her arm around Milton to hug his waist and resting her head against his shoulder. Had it been anyone but Beth, Milton would have assumed that Andrea had told that person to continue showing Milton gentle and practiced attention, but as it stood, Beth was just like that with everyone. She wasn't afraid to be affectionate, something Milton felt was good not only for the baby and Carl who needed a nurturing figure in their lives, but for Parker as well. And, by a longer shot, Milton himself because he and Andrea were no longer speaking, but Beth never held back or missed the opportunity to drop a kind word his way or hug him out of the blue.

Instead of anticipating it with dread and resenting it, Milton found himself looking forward to these small actions from her. He didn't know what it meant to love a sibling, but he could see it in how Maggie and Beth, Carl and Judith, and to an extent, Merle and Daryl acted with each other. Beth had adopted that sort of mannerism with him, so he guessed that she had taken him into her family which brought a warm sensation to Milton's chest. If there was anyone he thought that he could look out for and care for as a sibling would, it would be Beth.

So he hugged her back before leaving her and Parker to watch over Judith so that he could help Rick with the plowing for the vegetable fields. As the two of them laid out dimensions and calculated where each crop would be grown, Rick nodded back towards his house.

"I saw a big change in there," he observed. "I've never seen you hug someone before."

"Is it really so strange to see me doing that?" asked Milton. Was everyone on the lookout for signs of emotional improvement from him?

"Considerin' that I thought the break with you and Andrea would put you back on the path to the loathin' of human contact, yeah, it's strange. Don't get me wrong, it's a good thing, but no one was expectin' that."

"Do you want a hug now?" Largely due to Merle and Daryl's expert use of sarcasm, Milton had learned how to use it with confidence and not in a way that hurt anyone.

"I'm good, thanks."

The two of them worked at plowing well on into the day and only when they had about an hour left before sundown did they stop so that the back of Milton's neck felt rather sunburned and he had blisters on his hands. He went to wash up in the kitchen where Hans was preparing some canned pumpkin-something to go with whatever Daryl managed to catch and Andrea was cleaning the dishes from the night before. She finished in a hurry and left. Seeing Milton's hands, Hans handed him some antiseptic cream and bandaids.

"Blisters are a rite of passage," he told Milton as Milton struggled to wrap a bandage around the dip between his fingers. "They make the skin tougher than it was before and give your hands a story to tell. Every scar and imperfection has a history behind it."

"Fascinating," said Milton, crumpling up one of the bandaids that had gotten too slippery with the cream and was now useless.

"Oh, give it here," said Hans, taking the supplies from him to tend to the blisters. "You could have asked Andrea for help, you know."

"I try not to."

God, was everyone going to give him unwanted advice about her today?

"Because you don't know how to apologize or because you think she won't accept yours?"

Milton shot Hans a dirty look because that was actually exactly what he was thinking, but he had hoped he wasn't so obvious.

"If I may, I'd like to offer you a few pointers to not completely fuck yourself over when you decide to attempt this. Get her on her own and don't have anything like a table between you. Be completely honest and sincere when you tell her and keep eye contact. Say it with feeling, not logic. Use people words, not that mumbo-jumbo you used in your lab. Talk to her like she's your friend and not an acquaintance. And for the love of God, don't say 'I apologize'. Saying the actual word 'sorry' carries more weight because it comes from the heart and not the mind."

If Hans's words were to be believed, Milton needed to basically pretend that he was an emotionally driven individual which was about as easy as shedding his skin and shriveling out of his body to enter a new one. But he had to try at least because he couldn't stand not talking to Andrea any longer. The stony silence that followed their every glance, the horrible feel of abandonment when he could hear her crying in the middle of the night and knowing that he couldn't go to comfort her, the dark cloud hovering over him that something might happen to prevent him from apologizing and having to live or die knowing that he had never gotten the chance to express his regret.

He figured that after dinner was as good of a time as any since it wouldn't be followed with the two of them having to sit at the table and endure each other's sideways stares. It was already difficult enough sitting through dinner when Hans, Michonne, and Parker had to carry the conversation half the time since the other half of the household's occupants were not on speaking terms with one another. But he never got to apologize after dinner because dinner never happened.

Merle walked came into the house at dusk calling for Daryl, but when his brother didn't come to his summons, he tried over at the Grimes and Greene residence. He then went to check all the patrol platforms and finally ended up in the middle of Groverfield with everyone gathering around him to ask why he was shouting at the top of his lungs.

"The hell's wrong with you?" asked Rick. "Relative silence. That's been mandatory for everyone for months and suddenly you forget the importance've that?"

"Where's Daryl?" Merle demanded.

"Still out huntin'," said Maggie. "Where else would he be?"

"He said he'd be back by sundown and lookee there, the sun's gone down," said Merle, pointing his bladed appendage to the west. "My brother's prompt; he gets back when he says he'll get back and he ain't here."

"Probably just got held up," Michonne proposed. "If he caught big game, it'll take a while to carry it back. That, or he's up in a tree waiting out walkers."

"He said sundown," Merle insisted.

"That's true. Daryl told me he'd be back by now," Milton added.

"Y'saw 'im?" asked Merle.

"Yes, I was on watch duty when he left."

"Which way'd he go?"

"Um…"

"Which way, Milton?"

The use of Milton's given name instead of a nickname and the fact that Merle had actually used any variation of it was a big progressive step to go in two seconds, but it wasn't this that registered so clearly with Milton. He felt Merle's hand as it grabbed his shirt with a sense of urgency to know what had become of Daryl. Merle wasn't even aware of what he was doing or that Hershel had forbidden him from touching Milton in any way that might be mistaken for hostility. This was not hostile, though; this was fear, fear for Daryl.

"He went straight into the woods, but he had his coat with him," said Milton. "I think he expected that he might have to spend the night out there and he was prepared for it. I wouldn't worry about him just yet; he's been gone for days at a time before."

"But he'd've said that he was gonna be gone a few days."

"This's Daryl we're talkin' about here, Merle," said Rick. "He's fine, I know he is. We'll just keep an eye out for him and he'll be back tomorrow."

But Merle didn't believe that. Merle was an alarmist and even more of a pessimist than Milton. As Daryl's brother, it was only natural for him to feel a sense of unease, but Milton interpreted that where the others couldn't or chose not to. Something had prevented Daryl from coming back and it wasn't biters.


	30. Chapter 30: An Unforgiving Mask

**ANDREA**

The dawn of the seventh day was an extremely cloudy one. By all accounts, it was a true winter day with the steely coldness in the air and the mood of general depression descending upon the group as they went about their chores, not speaking much and constantly looking to the occupied guard platform to see if the person on duty had spotted Daryl. But hours of looking only yielded disappointment so that by two in the afternoon, they all had cricks in their necks.

Merle was nowhere to be seen, most likely still confined to his room since he had tried to go over the wall on his own in the middle of the night, only to be stopped by Rick. After the second day, Rick organized search parties, leaving Groverfield mostly uninhabited except for Beth, Carl, and Judith who hid away in a secret crawlspace under the stairs in the Grimes and Greene house. Even Hershel joined in the search, accompanying Milton who seemed to be taking Daryl's absence personally since he was the last to have seen Daryl and therefore felt responsible in some way despite nearly everyone's attempts to tell him how ridiculous that was.

Merle tracked Daryl for half a mile before the tracks vanished completely, washed away by the heavy downpour they got the first night. Since then, their searches comprised of guesses and dwindling hopes and by the sixth day, only Merle and Rick were still out looking because Rick didn't want to leave Groverfield unguarded. With no results to show for their efforts, Merle and Rick had come back an hour after dark, but at about two in the morning, Andrea heard a scuffle from one of the guard platforms and ran outside in her bare feet to see Rick tussling with Merle. It was then that Rick had threatened to subdue Merle if the latter didn't hold off until morning to go looking again.

It was a surprise to everyone when Merle obeyed and locked himself in his room for the remainder of the night, but with the day fading fast, Andrea had to wonder why Merle hadn't gone out looking yet. Was he trying to catch up on a week's worth of lost sleep, or had he given up the search and couldn't come out to tell them? Merle wasn't one to quit just because of discouraging results, otherwise he might have still been on that roof in Atlanta when the group went back for him.

Andrea couldn't linger on Merle's methods, though, because due to the fluctuating weather, the boards holding up the barricade at the main gate had snapped and it would take the combined efforts of the whole group to get it up again before nightfall. They had to haul the useless timbers aside and construct another barrier that would stand as strong as the brick walls on either side of it. Hans came up with the idea to use some of the concrete leftover in one of the garages to pack in their mishmash of sturdy items. They were about forty minutes into their work when Michonne suddenly stopped to look at something crossing the lawns towards them.

It was Merle and he had his coat on as well as his M4A1 assault rifle and a bulky-looking duffel bag. Once Michonne and Andrea noticed him, the others gradually stopped working until they all were watching him, waiting for an explanation.

"It's too early in the year to go camping," said Hans conversationally, but this didn't make Merle grin or change his expression in the slightest.

"What're you doin'?" asked Rick.

"I'm done here," said Merle, hitching his bag further up his shoulder. "Miltie knew about it and so did Daryl, the rest've you only suspected, but it was gonna happen sooner or later. I wanted t'wait for the spring, but things didn't work out that way, so it's now."

"You're not serious," said Rick. "After everythin' that's happened to this group, you can't just walk out."

"I tried t'sneak out, but Michonne spotted me soon as I walked out the front door 'cause I didn't realize y'all were workin' on mendin' the gate, otherwise I'dda gone 'round the back'n jumped off the south platform."

No one said anything, so Merle gave a little wave of his hand at the wrist. "Y'all gone and made this awkward, so…I'll letcha get back t'fixin' that gate."

He hadn't even gotten half a foot when Andrea called out to him. She only said his name, but she put everything she had into it because she was the only one who could make him stay and she owed it to her friends to try. She hadn't planned any further than making him stop walking, so when he turned back around rather dramatically with a roll of his eyes, she drew a blank on what to say, prompting Merle to shrug expectantly.

"Well, what, Blondie?"

Hershel came to Andrea's rescue in a way that only he knew how and Andrea felt a small amount of relief because in the past, Merle had respected Hershel's authority and his wisdom. Maybe now those elements would be enough to sway his decision.

"Your place is here, Merle. You worked for it, wanted it, and earned it. When you came to us, you had nowhere else to go and you all but told us outright that you wanted to stay. Why's that any different now?"

"You people needed someone who knew the Governor t'watch your back. Y'don't need me now."

But that wasn't true at all. Merle could have left them at any point after escaping the prison, but he didn't. Phillip was dead and had been for quite some time, so this threat Merle spoke of hadn't existed for months. He had stayed.

"This group is a family," said Beth. "That includes you."

"Look, sweetheart, I was never lookin' t'be part've no family. Y'all were just a backup plan and when I realized that y'wouldn't last without me, I stuck around. Then Parker came along and after decidin' that he wasn't gonna turn Benedict Arnold on y'all, I started plannin' my way out again. You've got Parker now, though, and he's a good shot."

"You don't survive by replacin' people," shouted Maggie in a completely un-Maggie-like manner. She had more reason to want Merle gone than anyone, but the attitude Merle had and his reasons for leaving them was most likely causing her to go off on him. She didn't like him and she didn't want him around, but she trusted him to help keep her family safe. "You make room for new people, and we've been through hell to keep you here. Don't you be so damn selfish as to leave us now."

"I ain't supposed t'be here," Merle responded with equal volume. "I never was."

"You're supposed to be where your brother is," said Hans. "And that's here."

"Yeah, but Daryl ain't here, is he? Ain't been for a week, which means he's dyin' or dead, so I don't feel the need t'stick around'n pretend like I'm a part've anythin' no more."

"This mask you're wearin' right now isn't who you are, son," said Hershel. "You can't do anythin' about it if it was God's will for you t'change, and you did. I can see it in your face that you're tryin' t'fight it, but you can't win, so you should stop tryin'. I don't know your past, but I know you now, and the days've runnin' are behind you. Stop tryin' t'hide that goodness in you."

"Oh, wake the fuck _up, _old timer!"

Merle ran his fingers through his mussed graying hair and then put his hand to his mouth in what looked like a one-handed prayer. He managed to compose himself and tried a more stable approach.

"Y'all keep goin' on about this 'goodness' in people like it's a redeemin' quality that'll wash away anythin' they done before hell decided to come up to earth's level. Some people just ain't born with that goodness in 'em and you're wastin' your damn time tryin' t'find it or make 'em see somethin' they ain't got. And this," he gestured at himself, "ain't got it."

"You're a good man who's done bad things, that's it," said Carl. "We've all done bad things, but that doesn't make us terrible people."

"You're not leavin', not now," said Rick, fueled by his son's words. "We'll stand here arguin' the rest've the day and into the night if we have to, but I can't let you walk out. You agreed to be with us, so be with us. I can't keep this group goin' if I don't have the means, Merle, and I've come to accept that you're the means. You're valuable and probably the best fighter we have. We wouldn't have gotten this far without you, you know that."

"Exactly," said Merle. "We're square now, no debts left unpaid. I done my time, posted my bail, now I'm home-free."

"You won't make it," said Hershel. "Someone else turns every day and it's more dangerous out there goin' it alone than it was the last time you were actin' as a loner. You're walkin' right into your death, Merle."

"Well, that's my decision, innet?"

"Let him go," Michonne muttered. "He's only leaving to find Daryl, then he'll be back."

"Daryl's dead," Merle snapped at her, and Andrea could see that this time, he believed it. In Woodbury, when he had asked Andrea if she had seen Daryl, he had been hoping still that Daryl was alive because he had no way of determining otherwise. But now, when Daryl had every reason to come back and hadn't, Merle believed him gone, which meant that Merle wanted to leave for no other reason than to get away from the memory of his brother.

"I don't believe that," said Parker stoutly.

"Then you're a goddamn optimist, ain'tcha?"

"If Daryl's dead, he would've wanted you to stay with us," Beth piped up. "Even if you don't, Daryl cared about us, and he'd have wanted you here where he knew you'd make it. But I know you care, Merle, because I see how you are with Judith and I see you doin' little random acts've kindness, and you wouldn't if you didn't give a shit. Most've us would be dead if you didn't give a shit."

Merle looked like he wanted to laugh, but it was not in a way that suggested he found the situation heart-warming or even remotely funny. It was his leer, the one that came out when he wanted to say something hurtful, but Andrea couldn't stop him as the words spewed from his mouth towards Beth.

"Y'know, you'n Parker here really do make a good match, sweetheart, 'cause neither've you seems t'get it that the world don't shit rainbows on the people who deserve it. People fuckin' leave and die and if you can't get that through your skull, you're gonna die too."

Beth blinked at him, her large, bold eyes shimmering, but she swallowed and folded her arms defensively. "If you thought that was gonna be enough for me t'want you thrown out, you're stupider than you look. I'll blow out your kneecap t'stop you from goin'."

"Don't try it, sweetheart, I don't wanna hurtchoo."

The mood had just done a complete one eighty on them and now everyone was moving their hands towards their guns. Merle looked pleased with himself as if this was the exact reaction he had wanted, but two could play at his game.

"Just go," said Andrea. "If the only way you can get yourself kicked out is by grinding these people into the ground, you don't deserve to be here. Don't make us waste any more of our lives on you when you weren't worth saving from the beginning."

Merle's face had gone bright red and his right arm was shaking as if the ghost limb of his hand longed to bawl itself into a fist and strike her.

"Maybe your dad should have hit you harder," said Andrea, hating herself for the venom she poured into those words.

Then she saw it: the Merle from the arena. Not the racist, misogynistic bastard on the Atlanta roof who beat T-Dog and Morales because of a cocaine high, or the self-important, gloating asshole from Andrea's first few days at Woodbury, but the man who had seen himself dishonored in front of people who had moments ago cared about him, and now forced him to defend his name by killing the one thing in life he would die for. That was a man who had every reason and every right to do the deed, and only stopped because he saw a way out. As he had stood back to back with Daryl, brothers against their world, Andrea had seen a man changed by circumstance. What she saw now was a man who had just been diminished to a boy under his father's brutal hand by a woman he had once harbored feelings for in front of the people who had moments ago seen him as this powerful, dominant force that they needed. Andrea had reduced him to nothing in their eyes with those few simple words, and Merle hated her for it. Now he had to decide if he would defend his honor, or find a way out.

She held his gaze for one achingly long minute in which she saw his words catch in his throat. His eyes were moist and his shoulders twitched as if they could feel his father's blow descending upon them. He didn't look angry or fearful, but broken. Betrayed. That conversation in the dark that took place as Merle allowed Andrea to extend a kind hand and touch him was one that they had agreed to keep secret. She had just spilled that secret out for the world to know and Merle had nothing to bring him back up to the man he was.

_Why would you say that?_ his eyes asked her. _How could you say that when I trusted you, above all people? Why would you go so far as to hurt me like this?_

She tried to answer in the same way without words because she had nothing left that she could say without dissolving into a beast of rage and fear. _Because nothing gets through to you except those things you try to hide._

Merle's voice came out small, frightened, and defeated. "I wish he had."

Then came the gunshot.


	31. Chapter 31: What the Truth is Worth

**MERLE**

The dry winter wind pulled all the moisture from Merle's eyes and he blinked rapidly to see Milton squaring off against an oncoming mass of biters that had been drawn in by the group's arguments. Milton was hitting every single one of his targets in the face as they merged from two directions and became one entity of death coming towards Groverfield. There had to be at least seventy, maybe more than ninety, but already Milton had taken out eight as the group became aware of the impending threat. Two more shots and Milton emptied his clip, pulling out a new magazine from his back pocket, clicking it into place, and opening fire again.

"Milton, get back!" Rick yelled, for while Milton was rotating at the hips to shoot the biters as they came into his range, he was in the group's line of fire, and standing in no-man's land where it would be easy for a biter to sneak up on him from the side.

Either Milton didn't hear Rick, or did hear and chose to ignore him, for he didn't move as he emptied his second clip, checked his pocket for another, but upon finding himself out of ammunition, switched to his knife instead. Only, he didn't look prepared to use it. He just stood there, arms held at his chest in no way ready to defend himself.

And Merle thought that maybe this time, Milton really was ready…

"Milton!" Andrea screamed.

Merle dropped his bag and ran. He didn't have his projectile weapons ready, and couldn't draw them in time because he needed to use his only hand for something else. He wasn't going to get there in time…

A bullet took out the biter a foot away from Milton and then Merle threw out his arm, coiling it around Milton's stomach and pulling him sideways as he fell away from the biter's body. Milton landed slightly on top of Merle's arm and Merle pushed him off to sit up and stab another biter in the mouth. He grabbed Milton's jacket by the hood and retreated, dragging the latter through the leaves and mud back to where the group was forming a defensive line in front of the gate. And on the guard platform behind was Carl, balancing the rifle like Merle had shown him as he picked out his targets.

Hans hauled Milton to his feet, shoved his own pistol into Milton's hands, and ordered him to fire as Merle raised his automatic and sprayed through the first line of biters. Milton was on his right, Michonne on his left, and after everyone had emptied their first clip, they switched to their close combat weapons. The drill for any situation such as this was to use up one clip and one clip only before going for hand-to-hand, then reserving the last bit of ammo for the final stand if it came down to that.

Armed with an arsenal of kukris, machetes, woodaxes, knives, and other lethally pointed objects, the group advanced on the mass of biters, attacking in formation with one person jumping forward for the kill as their battle buddy guarded their back. With Carl on the dais and Daryl presumed dead, their fighting numbers stood at ten, leaving five equally paired teams. Merle's partner was Michonne, a match made in heaven as she sliced through the biter skulls as if they were paper and then backed up to allow Merle his chance to strike. She was a master with the blade and he was a warrior with his own, making for an unstoppable team. They read each other's movements as if a current ran from his brain to hers to notify her of every defensive placement of his body.

They had already cut down at least fifteen biters when Merle looked away from their work to see the other teams battling on through the throng: Beth and Parker, Rick and Hershel, Andrea and Maggie, Milton and Hans. Their movements were blurry streaks of red as blood burst from openings all around, turning the brown earth scarlet underfoot. It was a sight to behold, seeing the one-legged old man use his full momentum to ram a fire poker through face after dead face, seeing Little Miss Sunshine duck under biter limbs to stab upward from below, seeing the inexperienced German topple biters with inventive ways of using his kukri. And Milton…his face coated in splatters of deep purple-red as he bared his teeth, his arm coming up in wide arcs to split biter skulls in two, was emoting far more than he probably had in his entire life's events combined.

And then there were none. The ground was a wasteland of mass carnage as the group stood over their kills, fatigued and on the verge of collapsing from overexerting themselves to defeat this ever-existing enemy.

Merle leaned against a tree trunk for breath, watching Milton put his head between his legs and puke, then seeing Parker fall back onto his ass and hug his stomach as he gasped for air. Andrea sloshed through the multicolored muck until she stood in front of Merle.

"You're crying," she told him.

Touching his palm to his face, Merle felt dampness there and thought for sure that it was just sweat and biter blood, but traced the trail back up his face to his tear ducts. How could he have been crying and not known it and what's more, what the hell was he crying about? He had heard and seen people, mainly athletes shed tears after exerting their bodies to the physical limit—perhaps that was what had happened to him.

"We can't let the bodies lie here," said Rick presently after they had had their moment of respite. His hair was hanging over into his sweaty face as it always did when he had just done something highly active. "Hans, you come with me and we'll get the pickup, pile up as many as we can, and burn 'em a few miles off. Can't risk attractin' any more attention, especially since someone will've heard our shots. We'll try to make this in as few trips as possible, people, but we've gotta move fast while we still have daylight. And we're on double patrol from here on out 'til we're sure we went unnoticed. Carl, you and Beth take first watch while the rest've us get movin'. Maggie, you and Michonne double and triple check the alarm lines along the perimeter and set the snares. Parker, put up the red flag in the brown house and hide any signs that might tip off someone that there's people here. Hershel, check our weapon stock and get me a number of rounds for each one. Andrea, you and Milton start haulin' the bodies inside the gate so that any we don't get to won't draw in more walkers or possible intruders. Merle…"

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence as all eyes turned to Merle, anticipating his actions since he had been on his way out before the biters came, before the gunshots sent up a blaring signal to every biter and human within a five mile radius that there were survivors nearby.

Rick walked up to Merle, looking him as squarely in the eye as he could, though he had to look slightly up since Merle was taller.

"You stayed and fought through all've this," he motioned at the slaughter around them, "and you put yourself out there for that man you can't stomach the sight of. I know your true colors, Merle, and don't you try to lie to me. I know, I saw. You're here."

He gave Merle that upward-eyed look that offered Merle the chance to challenge him, but preferred if he didn't. Merle chewed on the inside of his mouth and gave a curt nod, prompting Rick to clap his shoulder and put him on body collecting duty.

/ /

If Andrea had wanted to apologize to Merle for what she said, he hadn't given her the opportunity earlier, but he certainly had something that he wanted to tell her, so instead of waiting for her to knock on his door after everyone had gone to bed, he went straight over to her room and let himself in. She was in the beginning stages of undressing for the night, but she hadn't gotten farther than unlacing her boots and taking off her first shirt layer. Merle beckoned to her with his finger and pointed to his room, then walked back out, leaving it up to her to decide if she thought being alone with him was a good idea.

She did, and she shut the door behind her, shuffling a few feet inside but not daring to come near him.

"Whatever it is you need to say to me, let it out," said Andrea, resigned to the fact that she could never take back the words she had used against Merle to try and save him from the outside. And Merle knew that was why she said them, but whether or not he could forgive her for saying them was another matter entirely.

_Well, some apology that turned out to be._

"Y'had no right," said Merle. "I chose t'tell you the truth and y'threw it back in my face in front've everybody. It was hard enough livin' through those beatings'n then havin' t'relive 'em for you, but whatchoo did out there was cold, Andrea. I dunno where we go from here."

"You're right," said Andrea without hesitation. "It wasn't my place to use that against you, but it was the only thing I could think of."

"The hell it was. Couldda just told me that y'wanted me here."

"After everything that's happened between us with Milton? After you called me a two-faced hypocrite? You expected me to admit in front of everyone else that my need to have you here was greater than theirs? What, were you thinking that I was going to profess my undying love for you?"

"Anythin' would've been better than whatchoo said. The truth would've been better."

What was the truth? It sure wasn't telling Merle that he was better off having died under his old man's abusive hand, but the fact remained that she _had_ said it, and she could never take that back. That was a wound that cut too deep to ever heal and if she knew that, but was willing to say it anyway to make him stay, that told Merle that she _did_ need him more than anyone else in the group. He was going to give her the chance to admit it, and if she didn't, there would be nothing left to say.

"Try it, honey, try t'tell me the truth this time where there's no one else t'hear you 'cept me. Even though it was wrong'n cruel, didjoo say that for the group or for me?"

Andrea clasped her hands in front of her nose and closed her eyes, shaking her head, but it seemed to be a self-reassuring gesture. Merle waited, and when she raised her head to speak again, two lines of tears were running reluctantly down her face, but she looked too furious with herself to wipe them away.

"I'm sorry." She hugged herself, crossing her arms over her stomach and grasping her elbows with her hands in a defensive stance that Merle recognized from his childhood It was the gesture of someone who feared that speaking their mind would bring punishment. "I tried so hard to help you open up, but even with all of that work, I still didn't know what it would take to stop you from leaving. I didn't know if anything could actually break you, and I didn't mean for it to go that far, but I had to say it because you needed someone to stop you. It's not just the walkers out there that would have killed you, Merle, it's being on your own again. Without Daryl, you're lost, and I wasn't about to let you throw your life away because you don't think you can go on without him. I wouldn't have said anything if I didn't care. I care more than anyone here about what happens to you."

If she cared so deeply about him, why, then, did her words hurt more than anything else that had ever been said to him?

"Merle, I wouldn't wish that kind of punishment on any child, no matter what they grew up to be. If your dad had beaten you harder, I wouldn't be here. Maybe none of us would be. You proved that you deserved to get this far by risking it all for us. I know you're the way you are because you had to be in order to survive and because your dad shaped you to be that way, but you don't have to be like that with us, and especially not with me. Your dad doesn't have control of you anymore. I shouldn't have pushed you so far as to think that you deserved what happened to you or to wish yourself dead because you're worth it. You're worth every bit of shit that it's taken to see you come so far. I wish I could have been there to protect you, but I wasn't. I'm trying to now and I'm so sorry."

The fight in Merle burned out. He sank down onto his window seat and threw up his hand in defeat. "What d'we do now?" he asked no one in particular.

He could tell that Andrea wanted to come to him, hold him if she could, but Merle wasn't ready to accept that affection from her. He would need to be the one that went to her instead. She didn't leave him, though, perhaps because she felt she owed him the companionship through the night, so she sat far enough back on his bed that her feet dangled about a half foot off of the floor.

Since Merle couldn't stand the silence that always followed these sort of deciding arguments, he spoke first after about five minutes. "Remember what I asked you your first night in Woodbury, just after y'woke up in the medical ward'n asked where I'd brought you?"

"You asked me if I'd seen Daryl," said Andrea, swinging her feet back and forth as she sat far back on the bed.

"I did, but that's not the question I'm thinkin' of right now."

"Then you're going to have to tell me, because I'd just been pumped with drugs and I don't remember a lot of that night."

"It started with you askin' me a question. Y'said, 'What do you want from us?' and I said thatchoo had walls around you, a roof over your head, medicine in your veins 'cause I stuck my neck out for you with the Governor an' I told 'im he could bring you in. I did all that, and you wanted t'know what I wanted from you."

"It was a thank you, wasn't it? You wanted gratitude."

"A little, but I wanted it in more've a physical sense than a verbal one," said Merle, and he put his back to the window to face her. She had stopped swinging her legs, but she wouldn't look up at him because it was coming back to her now. There had always been that sexual tension between them and that didn't change from Atlanta to Woodbury or Woodbury to Groverfield, but in the past few months of hardly saying a word to her, then having her stoop to the lowest level to make him stay by stating that his old man should have killed him, and finally her giving Merle the God-honest truth and choosing to be alone in room with him now made Merle realize that he wanted more than just her body. He admired her intellect and craved a larger, sweeter taste of that kindness and affection she had shown him in those precious few moments of privacy they shared that first night in Groverfield. Even with the rift that had come between him, he had this yearning because he knew the desperation that came from saying unkind words to shield himself or others, and Andrea had done exactly that for him. That made the two of them similar.

He had been able to manipulate women before, but it was purely for the aspect of arousal and he had not been looking for anything past a one-night stand. But with Andrea, now that he knew that she felt something for him, he wanted to feel her, know her…it was a feeling he had never wanted from a woman before.

He leaned in towards her, resting his knuckle and appendage on either side of her so that she had to look straight at him.

"Tell me somethin', Blondie, what truths d'you think I've been hidin'?"

/ /

The defense of Groverfield had brought about a sense of doom within the group that at any moment they could expect an attack on their compound. They considered every threat from an overwhelming herd of biters that pushed against their walls and sent them all scrambling to a group of heavily-armed and desperate survivors that shot them down execution style. They were in lockdown mode, staying inside, avoiding windows, and keeping their voices low.

And yet, Merle couldn't help smiling. Not because he felt entitled to, but because he had to put on that mask again. No one else would see him at such a moment of weakness as Andrea had the night before. Everyone else needed to see that nothing in him had changed besides the fact that he chose to remain in Groverfield for the time being. It became a source of annoyance to Andrea who cornered him after lunch and gave him a condescending look.

"Will you stop looking at me like that? They'll think we slept together and the last thing we need right now is for Milton to come to the same conclusion and have an episode."

"He ain't had one in weeks and even if he did, it'd be over nothin'. I'm allowed t'smile, ain't I?"

"Not at me. What the hell do you have to be smiling about anyway?"

"'Cause I finally weaseled some've them feelins outta you and nothin' makes ol' Merle happier than t'say I toldja so." And because he wasn't about to change his persona towards the people who had come to expect that Merle Dixon and his belittling, sarcastic, immoral, questionable ways came hand-in-hand. If that was what they expected to see, that was what they'd get.

"Well, neither of us acted on those feelings, so you'd be best served wiping that stupid look off of your face."

Merle shrugged, but purposefully made a provocative pose where he stood. "Y'still wanted some've this, though, didn'tchoo, and don't roll your eyes 'cause y'know y'did."

"You're pathetic."

"Y'know you like it."

Andrea gave a disgusted groan and walked off in a huff, but it was for show. Merle and she had decided that it was best to continue as they had for months and to act as if what happened at the gate was nothing. Merle would be the condescending prick and Andrea would be the weary matriarch because it was no business of anyone else's what went on behind closed doors.


	32. Chapter 32: Not the Same Man

**MILTON**

After two days of lockdown, they were finally allowed to go outside since Rick had ruled that if there was any danger to begin with from their shootout, it had passed. The sun seemed to be celebrating the freedom to roam about as well as it peeked out from the winter clouds. The occupants of each house came out to greet each other and discuss options for fortifying Groverfield.

It had to be now while he had his nerves and they had time. Milton had been steeling himself for the task ahead since the day Daryl went missing, looking for an opening in which he could pull Andrea aside and speak his mind. Now, when Rick had requested they all gather at the gate to assess the amount of work yet to be completed, Milton saw his chance. He found Andrea dumping her clean laundry onto her bed to be folded or hung in the closet.

"A word, Andrea?"

"Yeah, what is it?"

"I—"

"Hey," said Merle, rapping his knuckles on Andrea's open door, "y'all comin'?"

It took everything Milton had, every ounce of self-restraint he possessed, every fiber of his being to not turn around and punch Merle in the face. Two minutes. He just needed _two minutes_ to talk to Andrea, was that asking too much?

"I have to use the restroom first," said Andrea, waving Merle off as she entered the bathroom from her side. "Wait for me, Milton, I need you to help me fix the faucet in my sink."

Hoping that Merle took the bait, Milton nodded. Merle raised his eyebrows at Andrea's retreating back and bit the side of his lip in what Milton identified to be a sensual gesture. Winking at Milton all-knowingly, Merle left and Andrea came back out of the restroom.

"Sorry, what were you saying?"

Milton's apology died in the back of his throat. After watching Merle's gaze follow Andrea, Milton only wanted to know one thing.

"Was he kind to you?" he asked.

"Merle's never kind to anyone."

"But was he gentle?" Milton prompted. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"Did he hurt me when? What are—oh, don't tell me, Hans was gossiping, wasn't he?"

Hans had said nothing. Hardly anyone had said anything since lockdown, but with no one in the mood to talk which left Milton in no position to listen to anyone, he had reverted to his old habits of observing from afar. He was keen to find out if Andrea and Merle were going to attempt to reconcile and so he had kept watch on them over the past few days. The way Merle shot a smirk Andrea's way every time they were in a room together confirmed Milton's long-dreaded belief that the two of them had become an item. Since his and Andrea's fight, Milton had suspected that she would move on in some way and that way turned out to be Merle.

He couldn't say that he was surprised. Merle always had the advantage being the alpha of the group, but Milton never knew he had wanted a chance to beat Merle in this race until he recognized the finish line for what it was.

"Milton, nothing happened. I don't like to go into matters that I think are rightly mine to keep private, but you've always been an exception to the rule, plus I don't want to hurt you."

"It's okay," said Milton. "If he makes you happy and he's kind to you, that's all that matters."

"Please, Milton, don't say that," Andrea groaned with a look of revulsion. "Merle doesn't make me happy, alright? Almost nothing makes me happy nowadays and Merle makes me irritated and self-conscious. I'm telling you this because I don't want you or him thinking this is a competition or a—whatever the hell that term is they use in teen novels—love triangle. All we did the first night of lockdown was talk and I apologized to him for what I said at the gate yesterday. I'm on a role and I'm glad you're here now because I need to tell you before something else happens that puts it on hold."

She could be lying. Milton hadn't yet learned if lie-detecting was an art that could be practiced, so he couldn't tell if she was trying to spare his feelings or not. Either way, he had to tell her now.

"I have something I want to say first."

"Can it wait for one minute?"

"No, I need you to listen, please."

Andrea frowned, but assented, "Okay, what it is?"

_Say it with feeling, not logic. Use people words, not that mumbo-jumbo you used in our lab. Talk to her like she's your friend and not an acquaintance. And for the love of God, don't say 'I apologize'._

"I…I owe everything I am now and everything I have to you for believing that I could break free of Phillip's hold. You had the patience to help me when everyone else had abandoned any attempt to try. I won't pretend that I wasn't hurt by what you told me on the last day we spoke, but I realize now that I was only hurt because you'd taught me to understand what that feeling even is. And whatever else happens to me from here, I only got this far because of you. You have been and always will be the person I trust most and I wouldn't give that up for anything. I just want you to know exactly where I stand if the walls come crashing down. So I ap—I'm sorry. I am sorry."

"Milton—" Andrea tried to take his hands, but Milton put them up, palms facing outward to put distance between her and him.

"Don't try to relieve any sense of guilt I have, please. Just accept what I've told you and know that that's as sincere as I can be."

"Alright, I accept your apology."

Somehow, that was not the way Milton had expected her to word her forgiveness. As pre-Groverfield Milton, that would have been taken as a quality apology and then forgotten because lingering on such emotionally-charged subjects was time-consuming and a waste of energy. But in hearing Andrea speak to him like he had always spoken to her with such a careful choice of words, maturity, and formalness, it made him feel as if she thought he still couldn't express himself how he should, so she was trying to meet him on his level.

His hands were still in place between them, but he watched them as they turned inward and took Andrea's face in a careful hold. Having no pre-conceived notion that he was going to act beyond his apology, Milton was unprepared for what his pounding internal blood-pumping organ was telling him to do, but he found himself lowering his lips to hers and kissing her. He had never done it before and didn't have the faintest idea of how it was supposed to be done, but he didn't care. All that mattered was that he do it at least once for this woman that he knew he loved.

When he let go of her, he didn't stay to see her reaction. He ran.

/ /

More than anything else, they needed wood to not only hold up the gate, but to bar the doors and windows in case of an attack and Rick sent them out in two parties: Michonne and Parker in one, Milton and Hershel in another. They were to fire off two rounds in quick succession if they got into trouble and stay within the pre-marked perimeter of two miles.

Among the truck, the van, and the school bus, they had managed to find two more working vehicles in good shape and so Milton and Hershel took the hoodless jeep to a lumber yard about a third of a mile up the road to load up on timbers. Once there, Milton set to work chopping pieces of wood into manageable sizes while Hershel loaded up on the already cut pieces. They kept their backs to the road so that they had a clear view of the woods which was the only direction in which they would not be able to see biters or people coming.

When they had gathered a considerable amount, Milton hooked his woodaxe onto his belt, sat on the back bumper, and took a few puffs from the paper bag that he kept in his back pocket. The cold weather stung his lungs and though he'd been working hard to become less dependent on this makeshift inhaler, he still needed some assistance breathing from time to time.

"I thought you didn't need that anymore," said Hershel, taking a sip from their canteen and handing it to Milton.

"Not as much as I used to."

"Is that the same bag Merle gave you?"

"No, that one ripped a long time ago. I found this in one of the kitchens, thank God."

"I didn't think you believed in God."

Milton mulled over this statement as he and Hershel wandered further out into the lumber yard for anything else they might be able to scavenge before heading back. Hershel was highly devout and led evening prayers for those who wanted to attend almost every night. Lately, Milton had found himself attending these sessions more and more just to be in someone's company, but he had yet to actually speak to Hershel about the subject.

"I don't know that I do. Maybe, maybe not. Your perspective shifts every day so that one day you feel that there is a greater source of power at work, but then the next, you're watching a congregation of biters walk past your front door and you wonder why anything so awful would be allowed to happen. I mean, it makes sense to me, what you read every night, but I can't say if I've fully absorbed it and taken it for truth yet."

"You take whatever meanin' you want from it, Milton. I've had my share of doubts and there've been times when I wanted answers and didn't receive 'em, but it's the acts of this group that remind me why I'm still here and why you all are. I'm not here t'try and force anythin' on you or make you believe anythin' you don't wanna believe in; I'm here because I believe that there's hope t'be found in everyone."

"Even those who initially appear hopeless," said Milton, finding the head of another axe and pocketing it.

"Are you referrin' to yourself?"

"I suppose so. I know I'm not the same person I was when I came to you all, but even I would have found myself to be a hopeless cause if I saw myself arriving at the gate with Andrea. It was my expectations that I would die at some point before the threat of Woodbury could be eliminated."

"And here you are."

"I'm inclined to believe that that's some sort of miracle."

It had to be. Milton's survival couldn't be coincidental, not when nearly every force of nature was working against him.

"It is," Hershel agreed. "It's a miracle that we're all still here."

"Not all of us," said Milton, thinking of Carol and Glenn.

"I lost my boys on my farm almost two years ago," said Hershel. "I wondered if I would ever be able t'find peace after that. I shut myself off from the dyin' world and wouldn't let anyone in—until Rick appeared on my doorstep with a boy in his arms, beggin' for help. And after more losses, more arguments, and a hell've a lotta self-correctin', I let people in. I decided it was better t'try and save anyone who might need my help rather than t'watch 'em die, knowin' I could've helped but chose not to. It took me a long time to accept Glenn especially because he was a man who'd come t'take my daughter away, but I saw that he didn't have a selfish bone in his body when he risked everything for my Maggie. I see that same devotion from Hans and Parker towards my girls. I see it from you towards Andrea, and neither've you are mine, but I like to think've you as my own. That happens when you're the old grandpa in the group," said Hershel with a chuckle. It was the same good-natured laugh that he had let out the day Milton met him at the parlay between Rick and Phillip. It was the same laugh that made Milton decide to like this one-legged old man.

"I'm glad you're here, Milton. You needed a family."

He didn't elaborate, but Milton was actually grateful that he didn't because the declaration that this old man who had only known Milton for a handful of months, saw Milton as a son was enough to make Milton's throat constrict with gratitude. Hershel clapped his shoulder in a gesture that was the closest thing Milton could remember to any type of parental contact.

"Milton…?"

Milton went for his pistol without a moment's pause. Hesitation had never yielded favorable results in the past, and with that voice, he knew that he had to react quickly this time.

"Hold your fire," called the man, emerging from behind one of the timber piles.

Milton and Hershel had their weapons up and Milton was waiting for Hershel's go-ahead, but neither of them let off a single round as this ghost of a man stepped in closer. He could hardly walk on even ground with how bad his gimp was and he looked extremely thin as if his body had eaten away at his muscle and all body fat to make up for lack of food. There was still a nasty, dead-flesh-looking hole in his hand where Milton had shot him the last time. His face was covered in stubble, but there were small cuts along his jaw and cheeks where he had nipped himself trying to shave with an unsteady hand. A deep gash went across his chest and given how fresh the blood looked, it had to be recent. His clothes were in tatters and Milton could see that besides the knife he had in his hand, there was nowhere for him to conceal a weapon.

"You should have died a long time ago," said Milton tonelessly.

"I don't believe what I'm seein'," said Phillip. "You actually made it this far. I would've given you up for dead after the first week on the run."

"You don't give him enough credit, then," said Hershel, and Milton thought he could detect a note of pride in Hershel's tone.

"How long have you been on the road?" asked Milton.

"Long time. Lost count've the days; pain meds I found made me fuzzy. My leg never fully healed either—it's a bitch to even walk."

Quite suddenly, Milton felt the need to finally express his loyalty to the group, to shield them against Phillip's long-harbored wrath.

"Phillip, I'm sorry for how things turned out. I'm sorry that this happened to you and that I was part of the cause, but you know why I did it. You lost your mind and you put everyone around you in danger. I knew no one would listen to me if I tried to explain things and that you'd kill me if you found out, so I had to leave. It hasn't been easy, but I've learned so much more being out in the thick of all of this than if I had stayed cooped up behind Woodbury's walls. I'm valued now and people trust me, depend on me. We all depend on each other because we don't let things stand between us. You can't live and hate the people you live with."

"Sounds like you found out how real people work," said Phillip with an exhale that sounded like a soft chuckle. "I'm proud've you, Milton. You didn't let this fuckin' shit storm bring you down; you beat it. Good man."

"Good people help you maintain a sense of who you are."

"Like Andrea?" Phillip guessed.

He couldn't hurt her anymore, yet Milton still wanted to protect her, so he decided to lie.

"She didn't make it," he invented, hoping Hershel had the good sense to not appear as if this was news to him.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Phillip, clearly surprised himself. "That makes your survival all the more unique because you lost her."

"That's the one thing about leaving Woodbury that took me a long time to learn," said Milton. "You can't control the variables out here."

"What about Merle and Michonne?"

So, Phillip's hatred still burned bright.

"I have some supplies in the jeep that I can use t'patch up that cut," said Hershel, directing the attention away from the group. "I can help you and then you can be on your way."

Milton shook his head to Hershel. Even in this rugged, beaten, barely-living form, Phillip was still dangerous.

"Go get my bag, Milton," said Hershel pointedly in a tone that said _Now is not the time for arguing._

"Don't turn your back on him," Milton warned Hershel under his breath, then jogged back to the jeep. He was just reaching inside to grab Hershel's medical bag when he saw the dead hand coming around the corner. Snatching up the axe from his belt, he opened the biter's mouth from ear to ear, but missed the brain. The biter lunged for him and Milton fumbled with his pistol while trying to fend it off.

A bullet took the biter through the temple and it collapsed so that Milton had to wriggle out from under it, his front dripping blood from the biter's overly large mouth as he picked up his weapons. He saw Hershel lowering his handgun and gave a shaky nod of thanks before Phillip appeared behind the old man and drove his knife into Hershel's back.

Shock, disbelief, horror. And rage. Irrevocable, burning, consuming _rage_.

Hershel staggered forward.

"_No, you goddamn son of a bitch!"_

Milton took aim with his pistol and fired two shots, both of them hitting Phillip in the upper shoulder. He ran forward to place himself between Phillip and Hershel and ripped the knife free from where it had gone into Hershel's back, thrusting it into Phillip's stomach and allowing the blade to sink in until the hilt prevented it from going any further. Phillip gasped, bending at the waist in reactionary pain. Milton knocked him down, leaving the knife where it had gone in as he rushed to Hershel who was amazingly, still on his feet. The knife had made a hole in Hershel's mid-back the length of a checkbook and blood was already leaving a red trail down the old man's striped shirt.

With his hands shaking uncontrollably, Milton put pressure on the wound, staring at the scarlet trickles seeping out from under his fingers.

"Go back," Hershel wheezed. "Go back and tell my girls…"

"You're coming with me," Milton insisted. "I'll carry you to the car if I have to. Stay with me, Hershel. If I can get you back to Groverfield, I can help you; you taught me how—"

"Not for this," said Hershel.

"You're not going to die here," Milton vowed. He wrapped Hershel's arm around his neck and dragged him towards the jeep, all the while watching to ensure that Phillip didn't get back up. He helped Hershel into the front passenger seat and then dashed around to the driver's side. Revving the engine to life, he backed out of the lumber yard and put the pedal to the floor as he raised his pistol and fired two shots into the air to let the group know that he was coming back and in need of assistance. He set his pistol in his lap and took Hershel's hand, squeezing hard to make the old man stay alert as he made the drive back, a drive that would seem like a never-ending journey with a dying man by his side.


	33. Chapter 33: Ultimatum

**ANDREA**

Two shots. It was the sound no one hoped to hear, but the sound everyone was prepared for in case they did. The sound that brought them running to the half-constructed gate to pry it open so that Rick and Merle could drive their fastest car out and go to help.

"Was that Milton's gun?" asked Andrea, knowing that Milton had the SIG-Sauer P226 which sounded vastly different from Parker's Smith and Wesson Model 29 revolver. And earlier, she had heard one shot, though she couldn't tell whose gun it belonged to.

"That was a Sauer alright," Merle confirmed. "Hans, keep it t'gether here—"

"Incoming," said Maggie, pointing to the jeep as it sped up the road at breakneck speed. Milton didn't even stop the car as he jumped out and ran to the passenger side where Hershel sat propped up and ghastly pale.

Andrea moved to help when the pickup truck came screeching in, stopping just short of running her over. Parker made a jumbled apology while Carl and Hans shut the gate behind him and Maggie shut off the jeep.

"What happened?" cried Rick.

"He's been stabbed," said Milton, as he lifted Hershel out and started half-carrying him towards the closest house. But for all of his determination to get Hershel inside, he wasn't strong enough and both of them began to fall over. Merle took Hershel's other arm and relieved Milton of his burden.

"I'll be right there," gasped Milton, slow to double back and grab Hershel's bag.

"Who stabbed him?" Rick demanded, but Milton seemed half-delirious as he yanked on the bag which was buried beneath their timber load. "Milton, who stabbed him?"

"Phil-lip," said Milton, tugging with all of his might now.

Phillip. Impossible. Phillip had been severely wounded the night of the escape from the prison and Milton shot him again the next day. Phillip was long dead—but only by assumption, not proof.

"I thought he was dead. You told me he was dead," Rick said to Michonne.

"We assumed he was—"

"How the hell did he find us? He'll know where we are now."

"Daddy?"

Beth, who had been watching Judith, appeared with the baby in her arms to see Merle still carrying Hershel to the nearest house. She started running, holding Judith to her chest, but Maggie intercepted her and held her back as she cried out for her father.

"I'll be okay, baby," called Hershel, trying even now to shelter his daughter from the horror that had come knocking on their door.

Beth extended her hand to Hershel, but Maggie wouldn't let her get any closer.

"I don't want her to see him like this," the older sister explained.

"Whoever you are behind those walls, you need to leave now!" yelled an unfamiliar voice from the east side wall.

It was almost instantaneous, the reflexes of those who saw anyone outside of their own community as a threat. Merle proceeded with taking Hershel inside, followed by Milton and Maggie while Michonne tried to keep Beth calm and quiet. Rick motioned that everyone remain low as he crept over to the patrol platform, made his way up, and army-crawling closer to the edge to try and get a quick peek at the person or people on the other side. A few tense seconds passed and then he held up two fingers for them to see.

"We're not fucking around, people, you need to leave, or there'll be people storming over your walls to kill you or eat you."

Parker's head perked up at this news and he ran to join Rick, though he didn't stay low like the latter. He put his hand in the air and called to the people below, slowly rising up so that they could see him.

"Eddie?" Andrea heard one of the voices say.

"We'd given you up for dead months ago," said the other.

Andrea and Hans also climbed up onto the platform to lie down beside Rick and watch the interaction between Parker and these people he knew. But if Parker knew them, they had to have come from Terminus, and Parker never spoke of any friends, which meant that those men below were cannibals.

"You're not welcome here," said Parker coldly. "I'm only going to give you one chance to clear off."

"Eddie, Gareth's on his way—"

"We're not takin' in no more people," called Merle who squeezed his way onto the already crowded platform beside Andrea with his assault rifle hot and ready to fire.

"You don't understand; you're all in danger—"

"Okay, who the hell are you?" growled Rick, standing up with his rifle aimed straight at the men below. Andrea held her pistol on them as well as she came onto one knee.

One man was about Beth's height and Hans's age with what Andrea could only describe as shoulder-length hippie hair and the other was considerably taller and older as well as bald. Neither of them had seen fit to unsling their weapons from their shoulders as they appealed to Parker—Eddie Parker—above.

"We're Josiah and Walter," said the bald one. "And you people need to listen to us and stop arguing or every one of you is going to die today."

"Is that a threat?" Andrea challeneged.

"We're not takin' in no more people," Merle repeated.

"We're not asking you to take us in; we're begging you to leave right now," said Josiah. "If you know Eddie, you know about Terminus and the people there are starving. They've been hunting further and further away from the compound. looking for food, and some of them found this place. They're coming to eat you, not just kill you."

"And you just thought you'd tell us this out of the goodness of your hearts, is that it?" asked Hans.

"We lived there. We took the meat they gave us and we chewed, then we stuffed it in our pockets when no one was looking," said Walter. "Take that how you will, but we did what we had to in order to survive. We didn't eat anyone and we didn't kill anyone who didn't draw on us first."

Josiah looked to Parker for help. "Tell them, Eddie."

Parker was clearly fighting an internal struggle, but when he spoke, it was in a tone that concealed something more than just his anger with those affiliated with Terminus.

"They were good to me, Rick," he said. "They gave me medicine for my wounds and talked Gareth down when he wanted to keep beating me. They helped me escape, but I don't know if they're here on their own free will or not."

"We told you, it's because Gareth's coming this way, straight for you people," said Walter. "Some other Termites saw this place and thought there might be people inside, but they didn't know for sure. Then they heard gunfire on their way back to tell Gareth and they knew someone was here about three days ago. There's twenty-five of them total in the whole warehouse and at least fifteen of them were gearing up to leave when Josiah and I made a break for it. You don't have much time until they get here."

Rick leaned in to Parker so that only the people on the platform could hear him. "It's your call; if you think these men are tellin' the truth, then we have a situation."

"The Termites aren't warriors and they're not exceptional shooters, but they are vicious and if they're really starving, we're next on the menu. One Termite isn't a problem; fifteen is, and if fifteen are coming this way, we can't hold Groverfield. We have to go."

"That old man's not gonna last any roadtrip if we move 'im," Merle noted. "We can try t'make a stand, but if y'all don't think that's gonna happen, we gotta leave 'im behind."

"We're not leavin' anyone behind," said Rick stoutly. "Andrea, go tell Milton and Maggie what's happenin'. If they think we can move Hershel, we'll go; if not, we stay."

Rick, Merle, Hans, and Parker remained on the platform to converse with Josiah and Walter as Andrea raced off towards the burgundy house where Merle had taken Hershel. Droplets of blood led the way to the guest bedroom where Hershel had been placed on his side so that Milton could examine the stab wound, but Milton hadn't even started yet because he was trying to calm his nerves to prepare himself for the task ahead. Maggie knelt beside the bed, stroking Hershel's thin white hair.

"What's happenin' out there?" asked Maggie.

"The cannibals from Terminus are coming here," said Andrea, knowing how far-fetched it all sounded. "Two men who helped Parker escape came to warn us, so that gives us a little time, but Rick wants to know if Hershel can be moved into a truck so that we can evacuate."

"He can't be moved," said Milton, flexing his fingers to try and stop the nervous trembling. "I need him stable if I'm going to perform surgery."

"Then we stay," said Andrea. "Those are our only options. If we stay, we'll need every available person to keep the Termites out. You'll have to work quick and then join us, Milton, because we're outnumbered and the only things we have going for us are the walls and our skills with artillery."

Hershel tried to sit up to wave Milton and Maggie off. "If they're comin', you gotta leave. You'd be doin' this old man a personal wrong if you all stayed and died just t'save me when I've lived my share've life. You gotta leave now. There's too many t'fight off."

"They won't get in. And we're not going anywhere until we get you stitched up," said Milton with determined conviction, tearing Hershel's shirt open further to throw the wound into greater relief. He swallowed, gave an involuntary cough, and reached for Hershel's bag, but Maggie took his wrist with a shake of her head.

"We have to go," she told him.

"No…" Milton argued. "Maggie, I can save him, let me try."

Maggie bent over to kiss Hershel's clammy brow. "I love you, Daddy," she sobbed.

"I love you, my brave girl," said Hershel. "Protect your sister."

"I will."

Andrea took Hershel's hands. He had tended to her on more than one occasion, saved her life with those calloused but warm, gentle hands that had labored more years than she had been alive. Those hands were cold.

"Thank you for opening up your door for a group of strangers," Andrea whispered.

"Stop talking to him like that; he's going to make it," Milton declared with a catch in his voice. "I can help him."

"Milton." Even on his deathbed, Hershel's voice commanded absolute attention and Milton went around to the other side of the bed so that Hershel could see him. "It's not your place, son."

"That's bullshit. I know how to do this, why won't you let me?"

"Because he's too far gone, Milton," said Andrea, resting her hand on his shoulder. "And we have to leave."

Milton's face was a ruddy mess, flushed with the cold, the effort of carrying Hershel, and the realization that his friend was going to die. Hershel patted Milton's cheek with one bloody hand.

"It's okay," Hershel told him.

"Come on," said Andrea, tugging at both Milton and Maggie's sleeves. She couldn't decide which of them were more reluctant to leave: Maggie who had to say goodbye to her father to save the last bit of family she had, or Milton who had no family but had finally accepted Hershel as a replacement for the one he wish he had.

"Come _on_," Andrea urged, and Milton wiped his nose on his sleeve, taking Maggie's arm and steering her out.

"Wait," said Maggie, "We need to leave him a gun."

"I got one, just go," said Hershel and the last image Andrea had of this incredible old man was him cradling his revolver to his chest.

"Maggie, go get Beth and the two of you meet us at the pickup in five minutes," said Andrea. "Tell Rick it's time to go."

Trying to compose herself for Beth's sake, Maggie left them, but Andrea didn't think it necessary to go back to their house and gather belongings since their only personal belongings were clothes. Andrea walked Milton out the front door and had him stand on the porch as she checked his ammunition for him. He didn't seem to notice, lost in a daze that made him look all but dead.

"Don't punch out on me," said Andrea, snapping her fingers in front of his face to get some sort of reaction from him. "Milton, I need you to listen. We're leaving now and I need your mind here with me, not in that room with Hershel."

"He saved me." Milton refocused his gaze and showed Andrea the rotting blood on his shirt. "Hershel told me to get his bag from the car," he recited as if the events of the past half hour were chemical equations. "He was going to fix Phillip's wound and I told him no. I told him _no. _And he still wanted to do it. I told him not to turn his back to Phillip. There was a biter—it fell on top of me—and Hershel shot it. In the time it took him to fire Phillip stabbed him from behind. He saved me."

"He knew what turning his back to Phillip meant."

"He's going to die because I couldn't kill Phillip that day on the hill. Andrea…"

She was losing him to a realm she never thought Milton Mamet could go. The same man had not come back from the lumber yard. This guilt he felt over Hershel was driving him to the edge of an emotional attack; she could see it forming in his deadened-blue eyes. Logic and reason no longer mattered to him, which told Andrea that she had to find some way to call him back now or risk losing him completely.

"If he dies for you, you have to make an effort to survive for him." Andrea grabbed Milton's face and gave it a firm shake. "Focus. The Milton I know doesn't have to be told twice."

"Do you believe there's a heaven?"

_God, I've lost him._

"What?"

"Do you?"

"I—yes, I think there is, why?"

"Because I have to believe that he didn't just live as long as he did to die and for everything to be as if he never existed. I have to believe that he'll be okay." Openly weeping now, Milton raised his palms to the sky. "What do I do?"

"You stay with me, that's what you do. You swallow the pain no matter how much it fucking hurts. You keep going."

Milton grabbed her and pulled her in towards him. All Andrea could think of was that this was _not_ the time for Milton to be having these urges, especially after that unexpected kiss earlier, but then Milton fell, taking her with him. They hit the porch on their side as bullets took out the windows above them. Milton covered Andrea's head with his body, rolled over her, and fired in the direction the bullets had come from.

"We can't keep going. They're already here."


	34. Chapter 34: Terminus

***NOTE* Combined/multiple POV chapters to follow…**

**MERLE**

Merle wouldn't have reacted as quickly if Josiah hadn't turned around in alarm at a sound coming from the trees. He became a human wrecking ball and knocked Rick, Parker, and Hans from the top of the platform as gunfire erupted where they had been standing moments before.

"Get to the truck!" hollered Rick, running for the burgundy house as more shots came whizzing in from all directions.

"They're over the walls!" cried Michonne, using her katana to gesture at the south wall where two Termites had climbed over most likely through the use of a human pyramid.

Hans went after Rick, Parker went for Beth, and Merle stayed where he was. He put the scope of his assault rifle to his eye and positioned it at the spot where the two Termites had come over, waiting. A few seconds went by and Merle knew he would have to move soon or risk being shot for not seeking cover….and there it was: a buzz-shaved head. Merle fired and as he saw the head recoil with impact, he could just imagine the Termites on the ground scattering in panic.

Now it was time to move. He saw the shadow cast over him from the wall behind and had only turned halfway when the Termite tackled him. A hand scratched at his face, hooking onto his mouth and ripping at his cheek as if the person was trying to open him a bigger smile. Merle bit down, tasting blood and feeling something snap off in his mouth. Judging by the scream, it was definitely a man and Merle rolled like a crocodile turning over to disorient and take down its prey. The man kept going when Merle stopped and even as he reached back for his rifle, a shot echoed across the yard.

Merle traced the path of the bullet in the man's cheek to the porch of the Grimes and Greene house where Carl had fired. Snatching up his gun, Merle kept his head low and bolted for where the boy stood, still in shooter's stance and in shock at what he had done. Without slowing down, Merle took the boy's arm in hand and skidded through the doorway, nearly colliding with the staircase as he kicked the door shut.

"Where's my dad?" asked Carl.

"Where's the baby?" asked Merle in return.

"She's upstairs—"

Merle lifted Carl bodily and carried him to the hidden panel in the back of the living room closet. Pressing the button that would activate the door, he set Carl down inside and spoke quietly despite the ear-shattering sounds coming from outside.

"Y'stay in there and y'don't come out for nothin' 'til one've us gets you."

"I can help—"

"Take care've your sister, that's helpin'. I'll go get 'er, but _stay here_."

Carl jumped at the sound of the door bursting open and rebounding off of the wall. Merle made pressed his finger to his lips and jerked his head at Carl's gun. Upstairs, Merle could hear Judith wailing, followed shortly by footsteps hammering up the staircase.

"Shit."

Merle pounded up the stairs after the intruder, veering wildly to make the sharp turn into Rick's room. He saw the back of a man leaning over and picking up Judith by her onesie.

"You put that kid down or I'll splitcher nose right down the middle."

The man started to revolve on the spot, slowly, and carefully with his gun pointed at Judith. Merle didn't wait; he knocked the man's hand aside and a bullet hit the ceiling. Merle stuck him with his blade, ripping his belly open from hip to hip and seizing Judith at the last second. He stabbed the man in the head and then turned his attention to the baby.

Judith was wailing now worse than ever and Merle tried to quiet her. He wrapped her in the blanket at the foot of Rick's bed and she fussed. If he couldn't find a way to hush her up, someone else was going to hear and then he'd have a hell of a time trying to fight one-handed with her in his arms.

"You stop that," he told her sternly and by some miracle, she did.

Merle heard movement behind him and spun around, but it was only Michonne.

"What's going on?"

"Here," said Merle, handing off Judith to Michonne. "Carl's in the crawlspace under the stairs. Get 'im and get outta here. Don't come back 'til somebody puts up the green flag."

"It's chaos out there."

"That's where I'm headed."

"You'll need help."

"Get outta here," Merle ordered. "Do it, Michonne."

Covering Judith's head with the blanket and wielding her sword with the other, Michonne left. Merle opened Rick's window and climbed out onto the roof to take up a sniping position, only the fighting had stopped.

Walter and Josiah had rejoined the Termites, guns positioned at Parker and Andrea's head. Merle made a mental note to kill them first if he got the chance for all of their bullshit. Rick, Hans, Maggie, and Beth were on their knees in a line, hands atop their head. One more was being choked by a Termite who stood beside another man in a faded leather jacket.

Milton. It _had_ to be Milton, struggling to throw off his captors but devoid of any life in his eyes.

"Tell your sniper to throw his weapon down now," said the apparent leader, which had to be Gareth. In short, he looked like a shaggy rat from his beady eyes to his slightly protruding teeth. "I don't need to warn you what happens otherwise."

"Drop it," said Rick instantly.

Merle was an excellent sniper, top in his unit before he punched his commanding officer. It was an easy shot too. Milton was turning purple from the choke hold and Gareth showed no signs of fear against Merle's weapon. It didn't matter to him if Merle or Milton died; food was food, dead or alive.

"Fuck."

Merle let his rifle fall to the ground below him and scooted off the edge of the roof, rolling forward to take pressure off of his legs when he hit the ground. The Termites swarmed in to pin him down. With half of his face pressed into the mud, Merle caught Milton's eye and mouthed, _I'll kill you_ _for this._

"Load 'em up and let's go," said Gareth.

Forced to walk between two Termites who had bound his left arm to his side in the only way they could figure out how to restrain him, Merle shot a glance at the southeast corner of the wall where he had seen Michonne and Carl go over. The Termites herded them up the road to where two vehicles were parked off to the side, one of them with a horse trailer hooked up to it. One by one they were thrown inside with Rick being the last. The back was sealed up and from the sound of clanking links, chained shut, then the trailer started moving.

"Where's Michonne?" asked Andrea after she had done a head count and realized that her friend was missing.

"Carl," added Rick. "Did they make it out?"

"Yeah, they made it," Merle assured him grudgingly. He'd told Michonne to take the kids instead of taking them himself and making a run for it so that he was on his way to the slaughterhouse because of Milton. He'd put the kids first. Oh, what a good human being he felt like today.

/ / /

**ANDREA**

There were hardly any turns onto different roads as one hour in the trailer became two. Someone made a comment about their chances of survival now and then, but no one seemed convinced, so the talk died out fast. Parker was having a hard time controlling himself for Beth, even with Rick reassuring him from the other side. What he must be feeling, knowing that he was being led back to the place where he would have died had he not made a bid for freedom? And after all of that, he was going to die there anyway.

"They didn't find Daddy," said Beth suddenly. Instead of wondering why it had taken her this long to say anything, Andrea only felt sympathy for this highly optimistic girl.

"Beth, no," Maggie whispered.

"He knows how to stitch wounds like that, maybe he can stitch himself up," said Beth hopefully. When no one answered her, she became defensive. "Right? He's still got a shot—"  
"That wound went deep," Hans reminded her, for he too had started taking lessons from Hershel. "It's not something that can be mended just by patching up the skin on the surface.

"Milton?"

Beth turned to him, her last hope because Hershel had instructed Milton on everything he knew while Hans was still a novice. Beth didn't know that Milton had already assessed her father and concluded that his wound was too extensive to heal. To her, she believed that Milton would tell her that Hershel's wound wasn't beyond the point of recall. But to the rest of the world, Milton was catatonic and had been since the trailer started moving. Hershel's death had snapped something inside of him.

"Milton, he can still make it, can't he?"

"Y'gotta accept the truth, sweetheart," said Merle. "Your dad was cut in the back where he can't reach it and the knife hit somethin' vital. He's not gonna make it."

"Don't say that to me, he's gonna make it!" shouted Beth and Parker, acknowledging that Beth's need was greater than his, hugged her to him, shaking his head at Merle as if to say _Way to go, asshole_.

"I can't believe he turned his back on the motherfuckin' Governor," Merle continued now that Beth had gone quiet. "What'd the fucker tell 'im that convinced 'im t'help? He's supposed t'be wise, innee? But that was the stupidest thing he ever couldda done and now it's gone and cost 'im his life—"

"Shut the fuck up, Merle," snapped Milton, returning to them with a demonic expression on his face. "Hershel was worth a hundred of you and only ever looked to help people, even the ones who the rest of us would think were worthless bags of rotting shit. If he dies, it'll be because he didn't let people like you bring him down so fuck you, Merle Dixon. Fuck you, _fuck—you_."

Andrea moved at the same time that Merle did to try and get to Milton, though she wanted to shield him from Merle's attack because that's what Merle did when confronted with statements he didn't like that were dealt out by people he hated. Even with his left hand tied to his torso, Merle was able to inflict damage on the first hit and a cut opened up across Milton's cheek where Merle's metal casing sliced his skin open. Milton fought back, bringing both of his zip-tied hands together to form one giant fist which he punched Merle in the jaw with. He used his body weight to throw Merle backwards, but in the confined space of the horse trailer, Merle fell into Rick and Michonne.

"Stop it!" screeched Beth to no avail as Merle dodged Rick's grasp and full on rugby-tackled Milton. The impact shook the entire trailer so that Andrea feared they were going to disconnect themselves from the truck and go spinning off the road to crash into the river running alongside it.

Merle tried to choke Milton with his arm across Milton's throat, but Milton head-butted him and blood appeared across the bridge of Merle's nose. He recoiled, touched his fingers to the blood, and kneed Milton hard in the groin.

Using the teeter of the trailer to get back on her feet, Andrea rammed Merle's shoulder with her own and placed herself between him and Milton. Merle confronted her with less than two inches between them.

"Get outta my way," he spat.

"We're not going out like this. I won't let you."

"_Let_ me?"

Parker stood up too, creating a wall between Merle and Milton. "Sit down."

"Y'all always protectin' 'im, makin' it so he don't gotta fend for 'imself. And where'd that get 'im? Captured. If he wants t'fight, let 'im."

"I'm not arguing. I'm telling you to sit down now," said Andrea.

"No need; we're here," said Parker as the trailer crawled to a stop.

In the seconds before the back was opened, they all made a collective agreement that no one would give in, no one would sell out.

Terminus was a giant warehouse with smaller add-ons surrounding it and broken, abandoned boxcars lining the exterior as a secondary fence after the metal one already set up around the perimeter. Empty, barren land stretched out on three sides of the compound while the trees stood to the northwest.

The rest of the Termites came out to greet Gareth and the group was shuffled into a circle so that the Termites could encase them. Thinking that the Termites meant to execute them now, Andrea reached for someone's hand—anyone's. She found Rick's and he turned his head left, right, center, just once as if to say, _No fear. Steady._

"Welcome to Terminus," said Gareth, extending his arms wide in an inviting gesture. "You probably already know what we do here, what goes on behind the scenes, so I don't have to explain that. I think we should start with introductions and before you say it's a waste of time, let me tell you a little secret; names are my specialty, so I'll remember each and every one of yours. But first things first: I'm Gareth, which, again, you probably already know. I'm the head honcho here but I try to treat everyone as equals. This is Billy," he pointed out a young man who had to be only eighteen or so, "Tyrone," a man twice the size of Carl and about three times as large, "Curtis," a man who had probably never taken a shower in his life, "Kara," a woman with a bull-nose piercing…

Andrea's group had killed four of the fifteen Termites who invaded Groverfield, leaving twenty-one to be introduced plus Josiah and Walter.

"Now it's your turn," Gareth invited.

Reduced to taking humiliating orders like kindergarteners on the first day of school, Rick spoke for the group, purposefully putting Parker in the middle of the lineup to draw attention away from him, but Andrea could see that Gareth was not amused by this.

"Parker, is that what you're going by now, Eddie? Why don't you like your name?"

"You really are an ungrateful shit, aren't you?" said Kara in disgust, and it clicked with Andrea that this woman was Parker's sister.

"You try to treat everyone as equals," said Parker shakily. "But that never included me for some reason, did it? I never got the chance. I was the punching bag from day one."

"It wasn't personal, Eddie. And after all, we fed you, kept you clothed, gave you shelter—"

"Fucking bullshit!" shouted Parker.

"Language, Eddie. You're not authorized to use profanity," Gareth scolded.

"You leave him alone," said Beth, but Andrea wish she hadn't. By speaking out for Parker, she had just confirmed that she, above all the others in the group, cared for Parker, and that was a weapon Gareth could use.

Gareth chuckled in disbelief. "You got yourself a girl, Eddie? What's the matter? I thought you enjoyed it when we stuck you."

"What?" Beth looked from Parker to Gareth in confusion.

"Rape, sweetie," Gareth explained. "Eddie was our man whore."

Andrea was in the half of the group that let out audible gasps of horror while the other half were staring daggers at Gareth, trying to think of a sufficient punishment for what he had done to Parker. Merle, however, didn't look like this was news to him which meant that somehow, he already knew and had known for quite some time, yet chose not to say anything.

Parker balled his bound fists, unable to wipe the tears streaming from his eyes. "Go to hell. All of you."

"We're already here, Eddie, but this is just the outer circle. Hell goes much deeper, especially for those who don't appreciate what they have. That's where you're headed. Put him in the cage."

Whatever the cage was, Parker knew, and he panicked, trying to conceal himself inside the group as the Termites moved in to take him. Rick, Merle, and Hans raised their fists, prepared to fight for Parker while Andrea, Maggie, and Beth formed a triangular defense behind them. Curtis moved in, but then Milton came to life and hit Curtis directly in the crotch. Two more Termites pummeled Milton to the ground with the butts of their weapons, prompting Rick and Hans to start grappling with them.

Gareth called the Termites off and put his hands on his hips like an impatient house wife. "Now, Eddie, are you going to come quietly, or are you going to get your friends killed trying to protect you?"

"Kara," Parker whispered, "please, I'm your brother."

"You'd have to be a man to be my brother, and with how many times you took it up the ass, you're not," said Kara seethingly.

"If any of you attack my people again, I'll take the youngest and rape her right here where you all can see," warned Gareth.

Beth clung to Parker's arm even as Tyrone and another Termite pushed through to take him. Parker tried to shake her off, but it was a death-grip she had on him. Andrea started to pry Beth's fingers off of Parker's coat and Merle hoisted her up so that her hold broke. The group was made to march further into the compound to a circular caged-off area with concrete the color of red wine. They stood abreast in front of the cage. The Termites cut Parker's zip-tie, shoved him into the cage, and then a portcullis on the far side rolled open, emitting eight walkers.

"_No_!" screamed Beth, pounding on the fence as the walkers closed in on Parker. She put one foot up to the metal rungs with the intention of climbing over to help him. Tyrone closed his fist around her ponytail and yanked her back down. She yelped in pain and Andrea grabbed her, shielding the girl's body with her own until Tyrone backed off.

Parker had nothing to use as a weapon. He ran the length of the cage, trying to get the walkers to follow him single-file, then shoved the first one in line over, which tripped up two more behind it. He sprinted ahead, then doubled back, reaching the last struggling walker and smashing his boot down into its skull. This tactic worked once more, but the effort it took to run in the enclosed space was already wearing him down. He covered his fists with his coat sleeves to protect them from the walkers' teeth as he started punching.

He lingered too long after one punch and a walker clamped its teeth around Parker's wrist. At the far end of the cage, Andrea couldn't see him as the walkers swarmed in, obstructing him from view. She clutched Beth tighter, anticipating the cries of agony to follow. But two walkers went down and Parker broke free, staggering towards the group's side of the cage. He was bitten in six places and had taken out four walkers, but he made it, sticking his hand through the cage to grasp Beth's fingers.

"Look away, Beth," he implored. "Don't watch."

"You haveta fight back," Beth pleaded.

Parker tore his gaze from Beth to look at Andrea. "Don't let her look."

Andrea buried Beth's face in her arms as the remaining four walkers latched onto Parker and dragged him down, feasting on his abused, tormented body.

Andrea couldn't look away as she saw a walker rip open Parker's stomach and pull out his intestines in a goopy red mess. Another walker tore away a chunk of Parker's face and a third bit completely through his hand, tearing off two fingers. All around Andrea, the others were either crying silent tears or turning their faces away, but nothing they did could blot out Parker's screams, so high-pitched and terrible.

Beth clasped her hands over her ears, shrieking at Gareth to put an end to Parker's suffering. Andrea was losing her grip on Beth and feared that if the girl got any closer to Gareth than she was now, the Termite would throw her into the cage with Parker. Milton reached through a gap in Andrea's arms and took hold of Beth, bringing his own arms up over the girl's head so that she was trapped between them. He held her fiercely, speaking words to her that Andrea couldn't make out over Parker's agonized voice.

To hear the screams and not be able to do anything about it with Beth sobbing as she watched the man she loved be torn apart was more than Andrea could handle, but it was Merle who actually did something about it. He brought his knee to Walter's stomach, stole back his own gun, and taking quick, careful aim, fired at the small bit of Parker's head that was visible before taking out the four walkers in quick succession. The screams stopped and Beth collapsed against Milton as Tyrone turned his automatic on Merle.

"Drop it!"

Merle let the gun go to stunned silence from the group and Termites alike.

Gareth examined Merle, sizing him up for whatever reasons, and then he smirked. "Now that _is_ interesting."


	35. Chapter 35: Humanity and Humiliation

**MERLE**

"I have something I want to show you, Merle," said Gareth. "Oh, and if you feel the need to stab anyone with that blade of yours, I'll eat your genitals in front of you. So, this way, if you please."

Merle had no idea why he was special enough to be given a tour of Terminus while the rest of the group had to stay beside Parker's half-devoured body, but Merle did as he was told because the alternative was to be made into a eunich. They walked the length of one corridor, turned onto another, went through a large room with what looked like a feeding trough, and finally emerged in a smaller, windowless area that appeared to have once been a boxcar maintenance shed.

"Have a look at this here," said Gareth, gesturing at a man off to the side of the room.

He was unconscious, strung up by his wrists to the ceiling so that his body dangled limp, his feet just barely scuffing the floor, but he was alive. Merle elbowed his captors aside and made a stupid run for it, but was seized almost immediately and held back as Gareth twirled his pistol around his finger.

"Recognize him, don't you?" said Gareth, evidently pleased with Merle's reaction.

"Lemme see 'im," said Merle.

"All in good time."

"Lemme see 'im, damn it!"

Gareth picked up a bucket of water, sloshing it into Daryl's face and Daryl came awake with a shout and a curse. Shaking his hair of his face, he spat out a small fountain of water and then his eyes found his brother. His shoulders sagged in defeat, but on his face there was still defiance.

_We ain't done yet_, his expression said.

"You okay, bro?" Daryl asked.

_Careful now,_ Daryl was saying.

"Yeah…yeah, I'm fine."

"Is it just you?"

"S'everybody, we were outnumbered."

"Everybody?"

Daryl was asking him if there was any chance that someone had evaded the Terminus group and so Merle ticked them off one by one. "Rick, Maggie, Beth, Hans, Andrea, Parker, Milton, an' Beth."

There was hope in Daryl's eyes, but he didn't know that the Governor had stabbed Hershel or that Michonne had grabbed Carl and the baby and ducked into the woods, or that Parker was now dead. If Michonne was smart, she'd take the kids and keep walking, but she was stubborn, which meant that she would come for them—whatever good it would do, and Daryl had all of his hopes relying on that woman.

"Alright, that's enough," said Gareth. "You two can talk later if you cooperate."

"And what's that mean, huh?" Merle demanded.

"It means that you will talk later if you cooperate," Gareth repeated.

"Y'mean after y'force us t'eat each other'n take whatcha want off've us? An' I thought I was bat-shit crazy. Well, lemme put it this way, pumpkin, I hope y'choke on my dick when y'eat it."

"We command a certain level of respect here, Merle, but you didn't know that, so I'm going to give you one chance to redeem yourself. Apologize."

"I'll letchoo in on a lil' secret on the rules we hold to in the group," said Merle. "Fuck you."

"Alright, put him on his knees," said Gareth. "And bring the others in here to see this."

Josiah and Billy beat Merle down until he was gasping for breath, then they dragged him over to where Daryl was and Daryl strained at his chains to help, swearing slow death upon all of them. Merle's coat and overshirt were removed, leaving him in nothing but his muscle shirt so that he could appreciate just how cold this part of the warehouse was. The rest of the group was led in and Gareth addressed them like a congregation.

"Pay attention, all of you. This is what happens when you don't do exactly as I say here. I will give you all a choice and if you choose to go your own way, you'll be punished. That goes for old, young, man, woman, and child. Following orders keeps you alive and talking back just because you have a rebellious streak in you gets you killed. These two are brothers and we already had trouble with Daryl, so I guess the disobedient gene runs in the family. Take a good look at the pair of them because they won't look like this when I'm through with them and you all _will_ watch, or your eyes will be pulled out on a fish hook and worn around my neck as trophies."

"This is inhumane," said Rick. "You eat other people, you torture them, and you kill them. Don't you have any sense of humanity left? Don't any've you feel any remorse for what you're doin'?"

"We did once and our people suffered for it," said Gareth. "In this world, there can't be any good guys because they get killed off. We made the mistake of thinking that we could be good and my mother was raped, my brother and I were beaten, tortured, starved. When we stopped giving a shit about our morals, we became the strong ones. That's why you people are going to die. Caring about anything but survival is for the weak."

Tyrone came around behind Merle and Merle heard the unmistakable sound of sizzling metal while two Termites sat on his legs and held his arms down. He had sawed through his own hand, been beaten by his old man, abused more than anyone else in the group (at least, now that Parker was dead), suffered more, was used to the pain. So why was he so afraid in this moment?

"Merle!" Daryl shouted.

_Fuck._

White-hot pain shot across Merle's back. He knew it was a branding iron that Tyrone was pressing against his skin, but that didn't make the pain any easier to deal with. He swore, beat his fist on the ground, and kicked out, but to no avail. Tyrone went to re-heat the metal and another Termite rolled up one of his pant legs. Merle's entire body jerked in reaction to the iron burning through his flesh until he felt sure that he would either pass out or go mad.

"Stop it!" cried Milton. "Fucking stop! He's had enough."

"Actually, I think he can take a lot more than that," said Gareth.

"Not everyone who comes in here can fit your standards and not everyone wants to be cannibalistic psychopathic shit stains. All Parker ever wanted was to be in the company of decent human beings and you raped him for it. You can't do that to people who still value human life; you can't punish them for not being able to change."

"I would beg to differ. We do it all the time here. But it's probably not in the best interest of our stomachs to damage our meat in this way—unless our meat can be swayed to be the predator instead of prey."

Merle tasted dirt on the ground, gasping for air, but he was allowed no respite. Tyrone made him stand and Gareth circled him, sizing him up once again with interest.

"You're a fascinating specimen, Merle. We value determination and resilience here, so I'm going to give you a choice. You love your brother, I can see that, and your only goal is to ensure his survival. You have that option."

Gareth put his pistol in Merle's hand.

"You can't grow attached to anything or anyone if you want to survive in this world," said Gareth, his face as blank and devoid of emotion as a brick wall. "But there are some exceptions, like my mother and brother. You, Merle, you've got family too. If you want Daryl to survive this, you'll do as I say. I know that you and Milton argued on the way here; my people could hear you from the trailer. Put a bullet in Milton now and your brother walks away."

"You won't force us to murder each other," said Hans.

"Why don't you watch Merle and see if he agrees with you, "Gareth offered.

Instantly, the others began calling to Merle, urging him to throw the pistol away, to refuse.

It should have been the easiest thing in the world, capping off Milton who had stood there while the Governor pitted Merle and Daryl against each other, who had done nothing to contribute to the group's overall wellness since his arrival, who fought Merle over everything at any chance he got, who had broken Merle's nose, who meant as much as shit on the bottom of a boot to Merle. And yet…Merle couldn't do it.

Daryl, Andrea, Parker, Rick, Hershel, Hans, Maggie, Michonne, Beth, Carl, the baby—and Milton. All but one of them was always expendable to Merle but he could not bring himself to murder as he had done thoughtlessly before. Picking off faceless, nameless soldiers and other survivors at the Governor's command had been easier than choosing to live or die. He had thought a long time ago that it would be just as easy taking revenge back to camp and seeing how Rick would like it being chained to an immovable object while biters lingered feet away. But now, he couldn't just turn around and shoot the people who had accepted him. He couldn't so easily kill the people who had every right to hate him after what he had done but grudgingly, unwillingly, taken him in, fought to keep him with them, proclaimed him to be family. And in turn, he had chosen to continue being this reluctant savior, earning their respect in the long process. Except for Milton's.

"I'm waiting, Merle," Gareth prompted. "Remember, there can only be one survivor."

"Merle, you can't do this," shouted Rick. "You're better than this. You know you are."

He was no longer standing on the concrete floor of the Terminus warehouse; he was closed in by a mob of irate townspeople who called for his blood, pitting him against Daryl to defend his honor. The Governor stated the facts: there would only be one survivor between the two brothers. But that was a decision he had made long ago; if it came down to who would survive, it always had to be Daryl, his blood, and this was Milton, who was nothing.

"Merle, please, don't," begged Andrea.

Merle stepped forward, pointing the pistol at Milton's forehead—and then shot him through the bicep. Milton screamed and crumpled, clutching his arm as blood oozed out onto the floor. Merle could see his paper bag sticking out of his back pocket just as Milton began to hyperventilate.

"Close, but no cigar," said Gareth deprecatingly, snatching up the pistol from Merle, putting another bullet in the clip, and handing it back. "I personally like to try for a kill shot in other less-valuable places at times, but you don't want to taint the meat by putting bullets in the best parts. A head shot is nice and clean and only takes out a small bit of the brain, which is actually a bit crunchy if the victim is fresh."

"Enough of that shit," said Merle. "Y'said Daryl goes free if I put a bullet in 'im, so there's your bullet, now let my brother go."

Gareth smiled wickedly. "No, Merle, I mean a bullet through the brain. Show me you're willing to kill for your brother and _then_ he goes free."

"Go t'hell."

"Merle…"

With one of the panes of glass in Milton's spectacles broken, his mouth bleeding, and his cheekbone swelling with a purple bruise, he looked deranged, but he and Merle had been in this situation before and twice Milton had narrowly escaped death. This time, however, he wasn't being defiant or heroic. He was begging.

Merle couldn't stand begging; it never amounted to anything. He threw the pistol away.

Gareth sighed and scratched at his head like a rat with fleas. "Well, that wasn't in the gameplan. I need to have a talk with my team to see where we go from here, so you'll have to sit tight for a while. But I guarantee we'll make cannibals out of some of you yet."

Tyrone let Daryl down and followed Gareth out, allowing the group to rush to Daryl and celebrate, however temporarily, that he was alive. Milton remained where he had fallen, tended to by Andrea, and Merle stood over him, unsure of what to think or feel at this point. Daryl could have lived. Merle could have saved his brother, which was always his only goal, but instead he spared Milton, and his brother would die for it.

Finding the use of his legs once more, Daryl walked over to Merle and nudged him with his elbow. "Y'alright?"

"No, man, I'm so fuckin' confused."

/ / /

**MILTON**

Life always seemed to be a waiting game. Waiting to die, hoping to live, knowing it was impossible. Huddled in together with their backs facing inward, the group waited for the inevitable, some holding hands while others tried to break their zip-ties.

"You should let Milton look at those burns," suggested Andrea, nodding at the "T" shaped brand marks on Merle's back and leg.

"What's he gonna treat 'em with, spit? The day rainbows come shootin' out've my ass is the day I let this prick tend t'any've my wounds," declared Merle.

"So that should be any day now, right?" Milton replied.

Merle's beaten face cracked into a smile and he started to laugh. Milton didn't know why, but he found the conversation highly entertaining and amusing as well and joined in. Here they sat, both of them having beat the shit out of each other followed by Merle shooting Milton and waiting for Gareth to come back with their death certificates…and they couldn't stop laughing.

The others were looking at them as if fearing for their sanity and if Milton could get a good look at himself, he would probably share in that sentiment, but he couldn't so he let this hysterical, maniacal laughter run its course.

"I wish you'd smiled more before," said Beth quietly to Milton. "You've got a nice smile."

Exactly what Milton was supposed to say in response to that, he didn't know, and he never had to figure out, for just then, Gareth returned with his cronies.

"We've deliberated and singled out the people we think could be an asset to our cause, so those people can take a breather. As for the rest of you, we're willing to give it a shot, but we don't have high hopes. To try and change your minds, though, we're going to give you a taste of our hospitality. See, sometimes, we like to play with our food before we eat it."

Realizing what Gareth meant split seconds before everyone else and ignoring his bleeding arm, Milton swept out his legs and Billy fell hard on his back. Milton pummeled his fist into the cannibal's groin and stomach. Beth ran forward to help, but Gareth looped his arm around her midsection and started to drag her out the door. Milton threw himself backward, catching Beth by the ankle and holding on with all of his strength.

"Leave her!" Hans cried.

Tyrone struck Hans across the face, reaching over him for Maggie who bit him on the hand. Merle rammed into him and Daryl delivered a wicked right hook, but before they could go down fighting, Gareth fired a shot into the air, shaking his head as he dropped Beth unceremoniously on the floor.

"I hate wasting bullets on this type of shit, now the next person to move from where they are unless I say so will get a bullet in the throat and have their corpse force-fed to their friends." When movement ceased, Gareth smiled and clapped his hands. "There, we're learning, aren't we? Now, I count three women, but in the lineup, I count four men who are a bit love-starved, so what are we going to do about that?"

Still holding onto Beth's ankle, Milton felt the handle of her pocket knife in her sock and he slowly withdrew his hands, pulling the blade out and clasping it between his palms as he sat up.

"I can tell you all who you'll be servicing, if that makes it better," said Gareth, squatting down to stroke Beth's cheek. "Tyrone there likes it rough, but he knows not to bruise our meat and Beth here will be having some time with him. And trust me, sweetie, he's more of a man than Parker ever was. Billy's a bit more frantic in bed, so Maggie won't have to sit through much before it's all over. Curtis is slow to finish, but quick to start and a bit messy, but I don't think it's anything Andrea can't handle. Our fourth man isn't too picky with the gender of his food. He likes them young, or at least, youthful-looking."

Milton knew what was going through everyone's minds; who was the youngest male in the group now?

"Shall we, Milton?"

"Don't you touch him," said Andrea even as Curtis tried to take her from the room by dragging her across the floor. "You leave him alone!"

"Get up," Gareth told Milton.

Milton didn't move, staring up the barrel of Gareth's revolver and waiting for something miraculous to happen that would save them all from this horrific nightmare.

"I won't tell you again," said Gareth, pressing the nozzle to Beth's head.

Milton pushed Beth's knife further down between his palms and came slowly to his feet. He backed up towards the door, mouthing to Merle who was the only one still watching him, _Do something._

Gareth and another Termite manhandled him all the way down the corridor to a room that was obviously used for slaughter since body parts hung from the ceiling and a table at the center was stained in old blood. Gareth put a white sheet down over the table and gestured that his companion put Milton in place. The Termite forced Milton down onto the table and bound his wrists with another zip-tie that was hooked to the end of it.

Out in the corridor, Milton heard someone shout, followed by what sounded like someone crashing into a pile of boxes and knocking the contents all over the floor.

"Will you go and deal with that?" sighed Gareth, dismissing his companion.

He came around to sit beside Milton, running his fingers along Milton's cheek and through his hair. Milton couldn't even move his head to try and bite him.

Of everything Milton figured could happen to him before he died, this was not one of the things he had factored in. Horrible, gruesome, agonizingly slow death, yes. Emotional and mental trauma beyond recall, yes. But not this. To have come so far, learned so much, only to meet his demise by a rapist cannibal was more than just humiliating, it was soul-destroying.

"I had a great-uncle who was Native American, Milton, and he had baby-soft skin all of his life. That's how your skin is, has anyone ever told you that? It's a pleasant change from the bristles of whiskers."

"Go fuck yourself," Milton heard himself say.

"See, I would, but I'll just fuck you instead. Don't worry, though, I'm not like the others; I'm a gentleman in bed."

Gareth went behind Milton and there was the defining sound of a zipper coming down. The cannibal put his fingers on the back of Milton's pants and started to pull them down, but then bullets hit the pipes overhead and Milton saw a giant steel sword descending on him. The sword cleaved through the zip-tie that bound his wrists to the table and he rolled over until he fell off the table, landing on his stomach on the floor. With Beth's knife, he cut through the bonds around his wrists, ready to stab the next person who touched him. A calloused hand hauled him to his feet and he saw Merle standing there with Michonne beside him, her katana dripping in blood. Gareth was nowhere to be seen, but a door at the back of the room was still swinging on its hinges.

"Did he do it?" asked Michonne.

Milton swallowed hard, but no words came out. Shame. He felt shame at being subjected to this psychological torture, of knowing that of all the people in the group, Gareth chose him because the bastard knew that the one thing that would break Milton was not physical pain, not emotional, but mental. All Milton had to his name was the subject of being a man and a weak one at that, but Gareth had been prepared to take that away from him and now, with his saviors staring him in the face demanding an answer, he found that he couldn't even tell them that he had not been violated.

"Naw, we got here in time," Merle concluded.

"Are you sure?" asked Michonne, though it was a question for both men.

"Yup."

Milton glanced up and what he found on Merle Dixon's face was understanding. Merle knew the difference between shame of being exposed to such pain and the shame of undergoing the pain and Milton's was the former. In the conversation he had overheard between Merle and Andrea, she had spoken of how Merle was beaten as a child, and so Merle would know if the abuse had been done. Abuse was one of the few things Merle could sympathize with.

To break the silence, Merle explained how they had been saved. "Michonne ran in right after y'left. I's gettin' ready t'raise high hell, but she beat me to it. We killed four Termites, got the last one t'lead us t'the armory, and came runnin'."

"As soon as you all were led out, I took Carl and Judith back in, hid 'em in the panic room, and followed in the van," said Michonne.

"The others?" said Milton meekly.

"They peeled off t'find the women," said Merle, placing a pistol and a rifle in Milton's hands and purposefully hitting Milton's cheek with the barrel of the rifle.

With that, Merle wrapped all of the emotions of the moment into one carefully packed bundle and tossed it out the window because he knew they couldn't dwell on what had just happened—or nearly happened. Merle was exceptional at moving on to the next item on the agenda, even if was at his own expense. Both Milton and Merle knew how closely Milton had come to being raped, but in reminding Milton that Andrea, Maggie, and Beth were still in danger, he had given Milton an incentive to put his own needs aside. Milton had been spared the assault, but unless he came to his senses, the women might not be able to say the same thing.

"No one lives," said Merle. "We kill 'em all."

It was no question of morality here. Milton thoroughly agreed.


	36. Chapter 36: Bloodlust

**MILTON**

Given that Milton had only been led to a room right down the hall and speculating that Gareth wanted the others to hear him and his men raping their victims, Milton figured that the women couldn't be far. Out in the hall, they heard a scuffle and the sound of a fist making contact with flesh coming from the room right across from the one where Milton had been led to. Merle burst through the door, revealing Beth who had been stripped naked and was now struggling to fend off her attacker.

Michonne gave an enraged shout on Beth's behalf, but Tyrone heard her and like Gareth, ran for it as he fired his weapon back over his shoulder at them. Beth hugged her knees to her chest, trying to conceal her nakedness, and Michonne put her arms around the girl who was sobbing in disgrace and fear. Milton and Merle began wordlessly picking up Beth's clothes and handed them to Michonne who started dressing Beth.

"We'll get that fucker," Merle promised the girl. "C'mon, Miltie."

Milton observed Beth's tear-stricken face, feeling hate rage on inside of him on behalf of this teenage girl who had lost her father, Parker, and quite possibly her virginity. A man's touch was not something that she would be wanting right now, but Milton felt a tug in his gut that told him to try. He put out his hand, palm up, and Beth seized it like a life preserve.

"Miltie, Andrea'n Maggie're still out here, let's go!"

"Get her out," Milton told Michonne.

The sounds of a battle reached them through the open window in the corridor which meant that somewhere, Rick, Hans, and Daryl were waging war on the Termites. They might have found Andrea and Maggie, but Milton knew that he and Merle still had to check every room to be absolutely sure. They raced down the hallway, throwing open doors with a kick and shooting the locks off of others until they reached one that stood slightly ajar. Through the crack, Milton saw Andrea's blonde ponytail and burst into the room to find her warding off Curtis with a knife she had apparently stolen from his belt. Her coat, shirt, and undergarments had been stripped off, but she wasn't even attempting to conceal herself as she held up the knife at Curtis.

Merle brought Curtis down by the legs and then buried his boot in Curtis's stomach.

"Putcher hands on her, will you?" he hissed.

Shivering, Andrea, attempted to pull her bra back on, but before she could, Milton saw the hand-shaped bruises forming on her face, neck, and arms, and what looked like teeth marks on her shoulder from Curtis.

Milton picked up a cleaver from atop one of the boxes by the door, grasped it in his vein-throbbing hands, marched over to where Merle was still brutalizing Curtis, and brought the blade down into the cannibal's skull, but he didn't stop there. He hacked away at the scalp until brains splattered the floor, blood shot upward, and Merle had to jump out of the way to avoid getting doused in it as gooey contents squirted out of Curtis's half-empty head.

Merle gave an appreciative whistle.

"Damn, son."

Milton felt the hot blood from his kill on his chin and brushed it away with his forearm. Outside, he heard a crash and someone calling for help. The rest of the Termites were outside; Gareth, Kara, Tyrone…

He didn't realize he was doing it, not even when Merle and Andrea shouted at him to stop. One moment he was inside, the next, he was out in the courtyard, shooting at anything that moved on the rooftops as he dodged from cover to cover. Bloodlust was something he knew about thanks to Merle, but he always considered it to be a low, unethical, draining, and pointless waste of time. Until now, though, he had never had a reason to want blood spilled. There was more than just wrath and a need for justification involved; bloodlust was born from loss, taken up by someone who was acting in another's stead.

"Milton, get outta the open!" hollered Rick off to his left. He had Maggie and Hans with him.

Merle burst out of the warehouse, drawing fire from one of the second floor windows. He threw himself down between two giant cinderblocks as a Termite shot at him from the other side. Trapped in between shooters, he had nowhere to go. Milton walked out into no man's land and astonishingly, no one fired at him. Perhaps they were shocked that he would so willingly stand where anyone could shoot him, but it gave him time to find one of the shooters and without even aiming, put a slug in the woman's eye. Realizing that one shooter was down, Merle propped his assault rifle up on one of the cinderblocks and shot the other one out of the window so that the body toppled two stories before it splattered on the ground.

Leaving Milton to rejoin the others, Merle headed back inside for whatever reason. Thinking that he had best follow, Milton had gone about ten paces when he heard the whistling. He'd never heard one in person, but he knew what it was, and he launched himself into the Termites' washing pool. The explosion made the water pulse and Milton could feel the impact in his ribs as he waited for the tremor to pass, completely submerged. He'd never been near water in such a large quantity before and had no idea how to swim, but he wasn't even close to panicking as he found his footing and waded out. The water pouring off of him didn't so much as make a sound as it dripped onto the concrete. All gunfire and shouts had ceased. Suddenly, the meaning of Milton's calmness was revealed; he could only hear ringing in his ears, deaf to all else, and in shock.

**/ / /**

**MERLE**

_We like to play with our food before we eat it._

The Governor was thrashing around even as they held him down and tied off his arm with a tourniquet. Merle prided himself in having a strong stomach, but the sight of the Termites sawing through the layers of flesh, muscle, tissue, and bone reminded him of having to cut through his own hand. Through the wadded up gag that had been stuck in his mouth, the Governor screamed and kept on screaming after his limb parted company with the rest of his body.

An explosion drew the Termites' attention and leaving the Governor strapped to the table, they hurried out of the room to go address the commotion. Merle stole forward, anticipating the return of a Termite at any moment. He avoided the steady puddle of red dripping from the Governor's stump and prodded him with the end of his weapon. The Governor's eye opened.

Even if Milton couldn't kill this bastard off, Merle sure as hell could. He wasn't going to spend the rest of his life looking back over his shoulder for this man to appear and murder someone else. He was going to gloat and let the Governor mull over Merle's success, stare him in his single eye as he killed him.

He ripped out the gag and the Governor coughed, spitting the grime from his mouth.

"It's a bitch, ain't it?" said Merle, showcasing his own maimed limb to compare it to the Governor's.

"You thought I was a monster, Merle. You thought tanks with dead heads and stubborn hope that a biter's body still had my little girl inside of it was crazy. What d'you think these people are, huh? I never stooped to _eatin'_ my enemies. Eatin's for the dead."

"I wouldn't give a shit if it was biters or cannibals that ate your punk ass, but you ain't gonna last that long while I'm here."

"I wouldn't blame you for leavin' me here like this. I know I did wrong in makin' you fight your brother. But what I did then was what you did when you brought Glenn and Maggie to Woodbury. You were angry, weren'tcha? Y'wanted answers and justice for your hand, for what they left you to in Atlanta. I wanted justice for my little girl. I thought Milton could bring her back and Michonne ruined that one chance we had. 'Course I see now that I was just being ignorant. The dead're dead and they stay dead. But I didn't see it at the time; all I saw was Michonne puttin' her blade through Penny's head which would never've happened if she'd been killed—if you'dda killed her like you told me you did. But since I couldn't punish her, I wanted to punish you. And now I'm payin' for it, bit by bit."

The Governor turned his head sideways and spat out blood but being tied down, he could do nothing to wipe a dribble of it away from the corner of his mouth.

"I'm not askin' for you to take me with you because I know you never would, not after what I did to your people. But I'm beggin' you for mercy, Merle. I found you barely alive and I took you in, housed you, clothed you, and fed you. I made you my lieutenant and then I betrayed you, but you owe me. You owe me this because I was your friend once. I trusted you once. All I'm askin' now is for you to take that blade and stab me through the head before they come back. I don't wanna be eaten by anythin'."

Merle slashed down through the Governor's bonds and pulled him upright by the front of his shirt. He put his blade to the Governor's neck, not sure how it would get the desired effect, but it was worth a shot.

"Y'already reserved yourself a place in hell for what y'done."

"I did," said Phillip. "And if you could believe that I'm ashamed, I truly am. These past few months…frankly, I don't know how I'm still alive. I didn't have a goal anymore once I lost track've Michonne, so I gave in, let myself go to waste. But for all the men I've killed, I couldn't turn my gun on myself and put a bullet in my mouth. I just need a way out now, Merle."

Merle's grip tightened and a trickle of blood ran down from Phillip's throat.

"Y'two-faced, murderin', lyin', piece've shit fucked up bastard, y'sent us all here t'begin with when y'attacked the prison. _You_ did this, damn you. And y'want mercy for that? I don't owe you shit."

Then Phillip began to cry. Merle didn't know whether to feel disgusted or sympathetic—or _what_. As Phillip had said, they were friends once, or as close to friends as Merle allowed them to be. They had shared drinks, laughs, jokes. They had defended Woodbury together. They had killed innocent people together. Bat-shit crazy, demented, evil he may be, but Phillip was just done now. Even if Merle didn't feel merciful enough to make his death quick by capping off a round in his brain instead of stabbing him through the gut and letting him bleed out to become a biter later, he had chosen to follow this man and would have continued to, had it not been for his own lie.

It was not Michonne stabbing Penny that triggered the events that led to this. It was he, Merle, refusing to go after her into the hot zone because he was scared. If he had followed Michonne, he might have gotten himself killed and never been able to find Daryl, to be there for him and save him. Merle's decision had brought about the apocalypse within the apocalypse.

So in truth, yes, he did owe Phillip.

"Shut up," he hissed as the man continued to blubber. He slapped him across the face with the backside of his hand and shook him. "You lookit me when I'm talkin' t'you."

Phillip looked up—and then reached for the pistol at Merle's side. He pulled it loose, cocked back the hammer, and fired. A body crumpled behind Merle and he spun around to see a woman dressed in an apron sprawled on the floor.

"They'll be comin' back," said Phillip.

Merle snatched up a shotgun and a handful of shells from the desk behind him and shoved them into the Governor's hand.

"You're gonna help us break out. You're gonna provide cover fire and shoot when I tell you to. You stay in front've me where I can see you at all times and if y'so much's breathe in the direction've the others, I'll put fifty rounds in both legs and your arm and leave you to whichever carnivore party gets t'you first. If you're still alive when we've made it out, I'll kill you myself."

"Okay," said Phillip.


	37. Chapter 37: Savagery

**ANDREA**

"Milton, what are you doing?"

Andrea had come out of the warehouse behind Merle to a welcoming of pandemonium and ducked back inside when the bullets came her way, but after the first explosion, she decided she needed to take her chances. That was when she saw Milton rising out of the pool of water and meandering over to one wall, his rifle clutched in a loose, unaware grip.

"Milton!"

He was disoriented by the way he was staring at the ground and not even acknowledging the gunfire around him. A bullet shattered the glass over his head and as the pieces fell, one sliced open his cheek, but his only reaction was to blink in confusion and touch the blood coating the left side of his face. Andrea threw out her arm to grab him and dragged him onto the ground behind the boxcar, calling to him in the hope that something she said would register in his mind.

"Milton, say something!" she screamed at him as they lay on the ground while explosions shook the boxcar.

Behind her, Rick and Hans were fighting their way uphill as Maggie guarded their backs. Not too far away, Michonne and Beth ran for the cover of the trees with bullets striking the pavement at their heels. Andrea and Milton had to move now or risk being left behind. She stood up, swaying at first due to the explosion, and then held out her hand for Milton to take it.

Daryl came around the left side of the boxcar, crossbow loaded and almost at the same time, Merle appeared on the right and with him was—

"Phillip," Andrea breathed.

He had only one arm and was covered in blood from an assortment of wounds that should have killed him. Why the Termites would go to such lengths to save him, only to cut off a limb for them to eat was so bewildering that Andrea didn't even try to comprehend it because even more baffling was why Merle had Phillip with him.

"What the hell's he doin' here?" demanded Daryl, aiming at Phillip's head.

"He's a meat shield, that's all," said Merle. "He's gonna cover us on our way out and then I'm gonna kill 'im."

Andrea looked at Daryl. Neither of them understood this at all, but Merle—apart from being covered in almost the same amount of blood as Phillip—seemed to be in complete control of his actions. Whatever his motives were, they made sense to him.

"I can kill 'im now, we don't need no one sneakin' up behind us'n puttin' a knife in our backs like this fucker did t'Hershel," Daryl growled.

"Hey, back off, lil' brother," warned Merle. "I ain't askin' you t'understand what's goin' on here, but I ain't gonna stand 'round arguin' about it neither. Take Andrea'n Miltie. We'll cover you, ain't that right, Governor?"

Phillip considered Andrea and a shadow of the old smile he used to reserve just for her made its way onto his face. "Milton told me you were dead. He's still tryin' t'protect you, isn't he?"

As if in answer to his question, Milton rose up, knife in hand, and would have stabbed Phillip in the throat if Merle hadn't taken a fistful of Milton's hair and pinned him to the side of the boxcar while Daryl and Andrea kept their weapons on Phillip.

"He's my kill, y'unnerstand, Miltie? Y'had your chance plenty've times, so now it's my turn. And his livin' body's gonna be your ticket over that fence and into the woods, so get it t'fuckin'gether."

"I'll escape in my own way, not with his help," Milton snarled, shoving Merle back. "Get him the fuck away from me or I _will_ kill him in the next five seconds."

"I shouldn't've hurt that old man," said Phillip. "That was a mistake, Milton."

Milton punched Phillip in the face and then Merle made Phillip double over in pain as he kicked him in the groin. Andrea secured Milton by taking hold of his shirt so that he wouldn't fly at Phillip again.

"Milton, we need to go now. With or without Phillip's help, we need to go."

Milton pointed his knife threateningly at Phillip. "I don't care what deal you made with him, Merle, he doesn't deserve it. He deserves to be eaten one fucking limb at a time by these cannibals; they'll take their time with him and make him suffer for every goddamn moment of it. You're bringing insult to Hershel in giving him a quick death."

"This's my business, Miltie; it's somethin' I gotta do. I think the old man would forgive me for that," said Merle, clearly disturbed by Milton's attitude.

"That old man's life wasn't wasted," rasped Phillip. "He rubbed off some've that goodness on you."

This time, Andrea, Merle, and Daryl had to restrain Milton as spit flew from his mouth and he stabbed at the air to get to Phillip.

"_It wasn't his fucking time! He was my friend, you fuck!_"

"Get 'im outta here," Merle told Andrea.

Daryl hauled Milton along in a half-nelson, half-carrying him all the way to the fence with Andrea providing cover fire. Making a foothold with his hands, Daryl motioned to Andrea. "Up'n over, c'mon."

Andrea placed her foot on Daryl's combined fingers and stuck her other one in a space on the fence. Daryl hoisted her up with enough momentum so that she could swing her leg over the side, but while she was straddling the fence, a piercing pain in her shin made her lose her balance and tumble over the other side. Milton scrambled over the fence after her, wincing as he strained his injured arm. As Daryl mounted the fence, Andrea saw Merle and Phillip breaking through another section a couple hundred yards off to her right while further up the hill, Rick and the others were ducking out of sight.

The rattling fence and Merle's shouts at Phillip had drawn in walkers from all sides that had been standing outside of Terminus for who-knew-how long, fighting to get in. There were enough walkers to swarm them within seconds.

"It's not too bad, you can still walk," said Milton after examining her leg.

"Milton, you have to help Merle."

"But Daryl—"

"Naw, she's right," said Daryl, looking as if it was causing him pain to not be able to go to Merle's aid. "I can help her get away, you can't. You can help take down them walkers, though. Go, I'll help her."

"I can't." Milton's lower jaw quivered. "I can't risk leaving you. Dammit, Andrea, I already had to say goodbye to the only person who ever embraced me like a parent should hold their child, don't ask me to have to say it to you. I don't know how…I-I'm not able to cope with another loss. Please…"

Andrea cupped Milton's face in her hands and brought him to her, kissing him as he had kissed her before pulling back and stating with firm promise, "No goodbyes, I swear."

/ / /

**MERLE**

Even as wounded as he was, the Governor was a good shot as Merle led him on a rampage to give the others time to make it safely into the woods. The Termites were cowards, returning Merle and the Governor's fire from the safety of their compound, but the noise had attracted groups of biters, making the uphill struggle even worse so that Merle had to shoot behind him, keep watch on the Governor, and be wary of incoming biters all at once while trying not to get shot or stabbed in the back or bitten. A lucky sniper shot off a round that clipped Merle's jaw before splintering into the tree behind him and he dropped his assault rifle in reactionary pain.

"Behind!" he shouted at the Governor, who doubled back and mowed down the biters stumbling up the hill behind them. Merle bent over to pick up his weapon and felt fingers grab the back of his recovered overshirt. The Governor yanked him backwards and threw him aside into the bushes as an active biter fell on the spot he had been seconds before. Stomping down on the skull to end the biter, the Governor kicked at Merle's boot with his own.

"We're almost in the clear, get up!"

Merle brushed his bleeding jaw against his shoulder and saw the biters scaling the hill from below as well as the ones closing in from the left and right. He and the Governor backed up until their shoulders bumped. They opened fire, not aiming, but just pulling the triggers as quickly as they could to slow the biters down. As the Governor stopped to reload, a biter broke through the ranks and rushed them. Merle skewered it on his blade, trying to protect his arm from getting scratched at while continuing to shoot his rifle.

"What the fuck's takin' so long? Shoot, damn it!"

A bullet went through the biter's temple and Merle turned to see who had shot, expecting to see that Rick or Hans or even Maggie had returned. It wasn't any of them, though; it was Milton, standing at least fifty yards off. A small gangle of biters broke off to pursue him, leaving Merle and the Governor to deal with the remaining dozen or so. Merle counted eight biters for himself, hacking, slicing, stabbing, shooting…

He was just about to let his guard down to take a breather when the Governor shrieked. Two biter bodies lay at his feet, but while trying to dislodge his knife from one's skull, another had closed the distance. It clamped down onto the Governor's elbow and tore right through to the bone. A second took a bite out of the his hip. Merle shot them both down and the Governor went to his knees, convulsing with horror at these new injuries that would ensure his death, even if Merle chose to go back on their deal.

He looked up at Merle, pale, sweating, and gagging for air. "Merle, it's time."

Why in the hell did Merle choose today of all days to grown a conscience? This man was the bane of Merle's existence, an insult to mankind, and a psychotic murderer who had killed that old man. Hershel, the one person in the group who was willing to accept him in so readily to provide medical care. That was what Hershel did; he cared for any injured person, even if that person didn't deserve it. Merle owed him this, needed to deal out this ramification.

Sensing his hesitation, the Governor tried to sit up. "You gave me your word that you'd—"

A bullet passed through the Governor's hip. Another buried itself in his thigh and the Governor curled inward to try and make himself as small as possible. Milton staggered up the hill behind him, his boots sliding in the mud but the vengeance on his face unwavering as he shot the Governor in the rear. Crying out in pain, the Governor flipped onto his back, his heels hammering into the ground. With no change in facial expression, Milton put another bullet in the Governor's left knee. Then he picked up the Marlin 1893 where the Governor had dropped it in the weeds and cocked it. The only problem was that one hit from the shotgun would make the Governor unrecognizable and Merle wasn't entirely sure that Milton knew that.

"Milton…stop…" the Governor implored.

"Like you should have stopped looking for us? Like you should have left us the fuck alone? I'll stop when I feel that you've suffered enough for killing that old man."

"Miltie, y'shoot 'im with that shotgun, you'll kill 'im right out," Merle informed him.

"We'll see."

What the fuck had happened to Milton in the last eight hours? From the time he left to collect timbers to now, this meek, terrified, awkward, useless man had both deteriorated and evolved. He had gone catatonic over the loss of Hershel and battled Merle with no thoughts of consequences. He had laughed in the face of imminent death and been nearly raped. He had gone intrepidly into a hive of gunfire to provide cover for Merle and hacked a man's face off for assaulting Andrea. He had taken human lives to protect the group and shot the Governor with sadistic passion. And Merle refused to let him go any further.

"Step back; I'm gonna end this."

Glaring down the barrel of the Marlin, Milton's body posture tensed. "You don't have the right. His life is mine to take."

"If you fire one more time, you're gonna pop. You can't handle it 'cause that's not the sort've person you are. And I'll be damned if that piece've shit at your feet is the one who makes you someone you're not s'posed t'be."

"Why would you care? What happens to me, the person I am—it doesn't affect you."

"The hell it doesn't, dumbass. Whatchoo do right now affects the group and everyone in it. If you do this, there's no goin' back t'whatchoo were before. Y'wanna go back t'Andrea like this and tell her thatchoo tortured the Governor? Think she'll forgive you for that? Christ, Milton, I'm s'posed t'be the one pullin' this shit. It's always been me who does the dirty work, the one who's got no morals."

"Then I guess we're more alike than we thought."

Merle raised his pistol and shot the Governor in the face. It was so simple, so easy, that Merle wondered how it had taken this long to do it. Unforeseen circumstances.

Lowering the shotgun, Milton rounded on Merle. "The fuck is your problem?"

"You're standin' there drenched in blood with fuckin' murder on your face on top've all the shit that's happened t'us t'day and y'wanna know what _my_ problem is?"

"You're the one who led him out here instead of killing him where you found him."

"I needed 'im t'get out. The Termites started firin' at us instead've the rest've the group—and he probably saved my ass a few times. Hell'f I know if he was repentant, but he served his purpose in the end'n now it's done, so quitcher bitchin'."

Milton shouldered the rifle, looking dazed. Below, the Termites were rallying to their vehicles.

"Time t'move, Miltie."


	38. Chapter 38: A Good, Decent Person

**MILTON**

With Merle's burn marks and Milton's bullet wound, the two of them were not making as much progress as they would have liked, staying just off the road so that if the Termites came hauling ass in their trucks, the two of them wouldn't be spotted. Michonne had come in the van, but whether or not she had managed to get Beth there or picked up the rest of the group remained to be seen. By now Milton would have expected to run into someone since he and Merle were only a few minutes behind, but they saw no one and heard no more gunshots, which had Milton deeply worried.

Their pauses were becoming more frequent since Merle had to readjust his pant leg so that it wouldn't rub so harshly against the fresh burn on his calf. Milton asked him if he had considered rolling the pant leg up entirely to solve the problem, but Merle only told him to shut up. With the dropping temperature, even the cool air on his burning skin would develop into a problem. They had stopped yet again for Merle to try and smear some saliva on the brand mark when the foliage ahead rustled in warning.

They drew as one—and out came Daryl, flushed and muddy.

"Dammit, Daryl, I nearly fuckin' killed you, man," said Merle irritably.

"Took me forever t'find y'all and I been runnin' in goddamn circles for ages, so don't get sore at me."

"Where's Andrea?" asked Milton.

"She's fine; I left her with Rick. We caught up to each other 'bout a quarter mile outside've Terminus and I volunteered t'go on foot, see'f I could catch up with y'all. The others were still lookin' for Michonne'n Beth, but with any luck, they'll've found each other."

Daryl glanced around for a moment. "Governor not make it?"

"I did say he was only a meat shield, didn't I?" Merle reminded him.

"Walkers or bullets?"

"Both," said Merle, but he didn't elaborate, for which Milton was grateful because he didn't need Daryl telling everyone else that Milton was mentally unstable and sadistic.

The brothers began contemplating their best strategy for getting back to Groverfield to regroup and resupply while Milton stood by shivering in his wet clothes. He saw a biter lumber past them some twelve yards off and then another and another until—

"Regardless of which way we're going, we need to move," said Milton.

In synchronized movement, Merle and Daryl positioned themselves to fight, but Milton didn't think now was the time, not when they could just lose themselves in the bushes. But even as he thought it, it seemed that much more difficult to accomplish because his lungs were begging him for air. Running seemed as possible as flying.

"Git goin', Miltie," Merle ordered. "We'll join ya when we're finished here."

"I can help."

"We know you can, but you ain't gonna," said Daryl. "We've got this, now go."

He wouldn't make it alone. It was a proven fact. He'd only gotten so far from Woodbury on his own before Andrea had to double back for him. Now, being wounded and suffering from the onset of an asthma attack, Milton wouldn't last fifteen minutes.

Merle and Daryl were backing up heel to toe and Merle stepped on Milton's foot by accident. Milton swore loudly and the biters shifted their attention to him.

"Follow the road home, go!" hollered Merle, banging his rifle against the metal casing on his arm while Daryl whistled through his fingers.

Merle and Daryl's racket had the biters occupied, but for how much longer, Milton didn't stick around to find out. He knew they were doing this to give him a head start because putting on a burst of speed and keeping that pace right now wasn't within Milton's range of capability. He needed to outdistance the biters by at least a half mile. His paper bag was sopping wet, completely useless, but Milton compensated by bunching up his shirt and sucking it what little breath didn't seep out the holes in the fabric. It wasn't much, but it was all he had to work with as he jogged alongside the road, ever mindful of the sounds around him.

Judging by the light, he had maybe four hours before nightfall and he and Merle had already been going for a long time. There was nothing else to do but press on for as long as he had the light. Come five in the evening, he would be out here with nothing to guide him on his way. The thought was enough to give him a small burst of energy that helped him sustain his speed. The throbbing, searing pain in his arm was only secondary to the tightness in his lungs so that every step was a milestone. His entire body ached from brawls and falls.

Ready to use his last bit of strength to climb up a tree for the night, he spotted a familiar pothole in the road and just beyond that, a moss-covered sign that read: Groverfield. He could have sobbed in relief, but he didn't think he had anything left to spare if he wanted to make it inside the gated community. He wended his way up the winding road to the community and darted off the path just out of sight of Groverfield in case the Termites had gotten there first and he had somehow missed them. There was no car to be found and no fresh prints on the ground, so Milton snuck inside, making straight for the burgundy house.

Once inside, he took an immediate left to the guest room, but the door was open and no body lay within. Milton checked how many rounds he had left in his pistol and hammered his hand against the wall to summon any biters from within the house. He felt the soles of his shoes sticking to the hardwood and upon closer inspection, saw that a macabre design of blood droplets painted the floor.

There was an unrealistic, foolish hope in the back of Milton's head that told him that Hershel had survived and gotten up to look for other supplies that weren't in the bag Milton had left at his bedside. Believing such a thing was not only stupid, but unfair because with the blood trail leading out of the bedroom, the likelihood of Hershel's survival was less than zero. He followed it out into the hall and into the lounge where it appeared that Hershel had been searching for something but fallen and dragged himself the last few feet to the umbrella closet.

Running his hand over the polished wood, Milton pressed his ear to it and from within, heard labored breathing. As if the door had some electric current running through it, Milton stepped back instantly. If he opened the door, he'd see that kind, unconditionally loving man's face transformed by the infection and that wasn't something Milton felt he could face, not after everything else that had happened.

It didn't make sense to Milton for Hershel to be in the closet because Hershel had already been shut inside the bedroom. He had a gun too, but some people just didn't have it in them to take that last shot that would end their life, and maybe that was the case for Hershel. Knowing this, his last moments must have been making his way down the hall to close himself into the closet since he believed that it was safer for him to be there when it truth, it was just going to be more difficult putting him down because of the enclosed space.

Milton could wait for the others, assuming that they were still coming. Or he could go get Carl from the panic room and ask for his assistance, but somehow, asking a boy to help him kill Hershel's reanimated form didn't seem like the right thing to do. What did seem right was to do this before Maggie and Beth returned to spare them the agony of having to do it themselves. And it was Milton's fault that Hershel took that knife in the back; it was his responsibility to see this through to the end. Long dead were the days where he believed a part of the person the biter used to be still existed somewhere inside of them. How naïve did he have to be to believe that then? If he had continued following Phillip down that path, he would have been bitten long ago, never made it to Groverfield, never knew Andrea. He would never have had to endure the pains that he had to undergo today. He would never have had to find out what a terrible place the world outside Woodbury's gates had become.

Milton grasped the door handle and threw it open.

/ / /

**MERLE**

There were no signs of the others, but Merle and Daryl proceeded anyway. They knew the surviving Termites would be on their way here, and the brothers needed to gather what weapons they could and stake out at the highest vantage point in preparation. Andrea had mentioned that she, Milton, and Maggie left Hershel with his gun, so Merle resigned himself to retrieving it from the old man's dead hands—that is, if he managed to opt out. Otherwise, Merle would have to put him down.

They came upon the burgundy house with the door wide open which didn't ring as suspicious because of the hurry in which they had left, but the blood trailing out through the room Hershel had been in caused Merle and Daryl to pull up short before rounding the corner to the hallway. They had just positioned themselves on either side when they heard a sniffling from somewhere further inside.

"Milton?" Merle called into the house.

With no answer, Daryl moved first, fixating his crossbow on the hallway in preparation, but when he lowered it, Merle came out from the other side of the entryway to see what had stopped his brother from shooting.

Milton was on the floor, supporting Hershel's head in his lap while leaning against the wall. Blood seeped out from under him and at first Merle thought that Milton had shat red, but then he realized that the blood was dripping from a stab wound in Hershel's skull. Milton's face had gone lax again so that it was like watching a wax figure with no emotion cry silent tears. He had picked out a spot on the floor and was staring intently at it. Merle knelt down beside him and lifted Hershel's head. Underneath, Milton's shirt had a chunk missing and there, sticking out plain on his forearm was a bite mark. How long ago it had been, Merle didn't know, but he instantly forced Milton to lie flat as he extended the contaminated arm. Daryl took Milton's fingers and tugged, causing Milton to scream in pain and Merle raised his blade to slice through Milton's arm.

"_No_!" Milton screamed.

"There's still a chance if we take it off now, so shut up," said Daryl, leaning away from the arm so that the blood wouldn't splatter him.

"It's too late, leave it—"

"Quit actin' like a lil' bitch and stay still," Merle spat.

"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE, MERLE DIXON!" Milton roared. "It's been at least two hours. It's too late."

"Oh, bullshit. I got this; I won't chop off no more'n I need to."

Milton was quick to the draw, pointing his pistol at Merle's broken nose. "I'm done. The infection has already spread and I'd like to die whole, thank you very much."

There was no way of knowing if the infection had spread, if there was even the slightest chance that Milton could survive, but Merle didn't question it further because it was Milton's decision. If he believed himself too far gone, then he was. If he wouldn't even try to save himself for Andrea, it really was too late.

"Merle—" Daryl began.

"Let 'im be," said Merle.

/ /

They didn't try to move Milton as they waited for the disease to consume him, but they did scrounge up the rest of their weapons from the other houses, ordered Carl to remain in the panic room with Judith, and set up shop right there on the burgundy house floor,. Merle didn't want to leave Milton to turn and possibly attack one of the others if they got back before the Termites did. Daryl lit a cigarette and then offered one to Milton who grimaced and shook his head.

"C'mon, man, it's not like one cigarette's gonna make a difference now."

"My lungs have always had a hard enough time processing oxygen flow. I don't want to die choking on cigarette smoke."

"Suit y'self."

Milton turned his attention to Merle. "Tell me something, Merle, when you were given the chance of getting the one person in this fucked up world you know without a doubt you care about out of Terminus, why did you hold back? It should have been the easiest thing in the world for you to do, especially with all the bad blood between us and the fact that I'm the reason Phillip invaded the prison. I mean less than nothing to you, so why did you pass up the opportunity?"

"Tell y'what, Miltie, I'll answer that when I find that it's any've your fuckin' business. Now jus' shut up'n die."

"That won't be long from now, but I need you or your brother to pass on a few words to the others if they make it back."

"Man, I don't owe you shit."

"You owe them and they'll want to know what happened to Hershel. I need you to tell them how he died."

"That's a given, Miltie; he turned and y'stabbed 'im in the head, but not b'fore 'e bitcha."

"There was a Bible at his feet when I found him. That will mean something to his daughters. And I made it painless for him. I held him."

"Touchin'."

Milton shook his head to himself. "Let me try to find the exact words that would convey my feelings towards your reaction—fuck you. You are the world's last and biggest fucking asshole, Merle Dixon, and I hope there's someone still alive to tell you that every day for the rest of your life ."

"You need t'hurry up'n die, son."

"Merle, shut up," said Daryl, speaking at last. "The man's done alright by me. He earned his right t'be here, same's you, now let 'im go out in peace."

"No one can leave this world in peace anymore, only pieces," said a voice from the doorway.

Merle and Daryl reached for their weapons, but it was a pointless move because Gareth, Kara, Tyrone, Billy, Walter, Josiah, and at least four others were already standing there.

"I'd like you all to come outside so that we don't ruin the interior decoration of this lovely house," beckoned Gareth. "Come out slowly, please. All of you."

Merle didn't think Milton would be able to stand, but he did, wobbling and clutching at the wall for support. He followed Daryl and Merle went out last until the three of them were standing on the porch, facing the firing squad.

Gareth beamed at them from a few steps down on the lawn. "It was a good run, but it was always going to end like this. And I have to say, you're the biggest disappointment, Merle. I really thought there was a chance with you. But it is what it is. Walter, do the honors of relieving the Dixons and their friend of their weapons."

Walter moved quickly, snatching away Daryl's knife and crossbow, Milton's dagger and pistol, and Merle's assault rifle, only he went around to Merle's back to pat him down for extra weapons, lifting up Merle's overshirt and tugging at his belt. He then moved out of the way to go and stand behind Gareth. If Merle hadn't been looking, he would have missed it, but Walter's right eye closed a quarter of centimeter—it might have even been a nervous tick or random twitch—but it looked like a wink to Merle and his suspicions were confirmed.

"Tell me, Merle, was this four-eye bitch worth it? Was it worth losing all of your people to save Milton?"

"We didn't lose our people," said Daryl viciously and Merle found a small amount of satisfaction in seeing Gareth's smirk flicker.

The cannibal recovered quickly, however, and continued his taunting. "No matter, it won't take us long to track them down, wherever they are. We already reclaimed Phillip; he's in the truck and he'll make for a filling supper tonight. As for the others, well I can honestly say I never had my meat as young and fresh as Beth."

Merle went for the pistol that had been planted in the back of his belt, drawing it out with his sights set on Gareth's forehead. His finger was on the trigger when Kara shoved Gareth aside and the bullet meant for the leader took out her brains. Walter and Josiah each flew at Billy and Tyrone while Daryl snatched up Kara's shotgun to face the remaining cannibals. Merle threw himself at Gareth, kicking out hard against Gareth's knee so that he could actually feel the reverberations of the bone as it snapped under Merle's impact. Scrambling for where his pistol had fallen when he attacked Gareth, Merle started to straighten up.

Gareth raised his revolver from where he was laying in the grass, smiling at Merle who was dead in his path. He had fired before Merle even had a chance to react—only someone else had reacted between the time Gareth fired and Merle realized what was about to happen.

A body threw itself between Merle and the bullet, shielding Merle's entire torso and as the bullet struck, Merle saw shock, pain, and acceptance register on Milton's face. Milton collapsed, falling forward into Merle's arms and Merle could see where the bullet had entered his back, opposite his heart.

"Y'stupid shit."

Gareth, shocked by Milton's sacrifice, hesitated before firing his second round. Merle didn't wait. He lifted his hand under Milton's armpit and capped off four bullets in Gareth's face. Without pausing to see his kill flop uselessly into the drenched grass, Merle lowered Milton to the ground, placing his hand over the wound on Milton's back as if by covering it, he could reverse its effect.

Milton's cracked glasses were covered in grime and blood, but behind the lenses were two veiled eyes that didn't need the glasses to see anyway, so Merle removed them by carefully lifting them off of Milton's nose with the tip of his blade. The man in his arms was dying in one of the most painful ways possible, a way that movies and books could never properly portray, because who could say what it was like to die? And yet, even as his legs kicked uncontrollably, his bloody hands shook, his lips glistened red as he choked up more blood, and his Adams apple bulged with every swallow, Milton was focused on Merle's face as if he could sense what his dead eyes would be looking at.

What could Merle say to this person? This person who had never wanted or earned his friendship, who resented him for his bullying ways, who hated him for eyeing the woman he loved, who expressed longing to kill him for the sake of people he hardly knew, who had thrown himself in front of Merle to save him? This _good_ person, this decent human being who was now everything Merle once aspired to be. What in the ever-living fuck was he supposed to say to this man?

Milton saved him the trouble. "Andrea?"

"She'll be comin' soon," Merle lied.

"Are y-you there?" Milton whispered as if Merle had not spoken.

"I'm here," said Merle, not sure if Milton meant him specifically or someone else from his past, or even Andrea.

"T-they forgive you," said Milton. "All o-of th-them…f-f-forgive you. They w-want you to-to k-know th-that we all f-f-forgive you."

_What the fuck._

The change in Milton's noun usage made Merle wonder if Milton was giving Merle his own blessing of forgiveness, but Milton was losing his grip on reality at double speed, so how could he even know? What if he thought he was talking to Andrea or God-knew who else?

"Would-would you do s-something for m-m-me?"

Merle said nothing.

"D-don't let m-m-me go-un-until it's ov-ov-over," said Milton, his stuttering becoming worse and worse with every word.

Just like a child afraid of the dark, afraid of the unknown realms that only existed when the imagination ran wild, Milton wanted comfort, just someone to be there, someone whose warmth and presence would reassure him that everything would be alright in the morning, that it was okay to go to sleep now.

Merle propped Milton's head up against his knee, struggling to keep him steady with no hand supporting the body as he took his one and only hand from Milton's wound and grasped the dying man's fingers tightly. Joined together, their hands formed a complete circle of scarlet.

"I-I c-c-can't f-feel any-anything..." The effort for him to even form words at this point must have taken the last bit of movement his body had. He was almost gone. "Don't-don't l-let g-g-go."

"I won't."

"Y-you won-won't?" It was a question of hope, of pleading.

"I gotcha," Merle assured him.

Milton's cracked, bloody lips pulled back into a smile but the irony was that he probably didn't even know he was doing it. "Y-yes," he whispered. "I can see you do…"

_What in the hell does that mean_?

A prickle ran down Merle's neck and he shivered, glancing up at the sun as it peeked out from behind the clouds and winked at him through the early spring branches while leaves of muddy brown settled around him. Then, the sun ducked back behind the clouds, and Merle felt a slight change in the weight against his leg, felt something flee the body in his arms. He dared not look down yet, but as he became aware of the clammy coldness pressed against his hand, one last shot of sunlight burst through the overcast sky in a fleeting second, flashing against his eyes like the full power of the sun reflecting off of the smooth surface of glasses.

Glasses.

_No fucking way_.

He saw Walter hacking away at one of Gareth's men even as that man tore into his face with his fingernails. Josiah was repeatedly beating his bat into Billy's skull and Daryl was tugging his crossbow out of the last cannibal's dead grip. Merle's brother wiped his nose on his sleeve and then turned around to look at him.

It happened slowly, almost too slow for reality as Daryl's look of exhausted relief turned to panic and then fear. He pointed to Merle, screaming, running…

Merle looked down. Milton's corpse was pulling him closer by their joined grasp to rip into Merle's throat. Merle drove his blade down, straight into the skull just above the eyebrow and the body halted as if paused by remote control, then it fell back down, leaving Milton just as he had been in his moment of death.

Daryl reached him and tried to pull him out from under Milton by shoving Milton off, but Merle swatted at his brother.

"Cut that shit out, I'm fine," he snapped.

"There's the rest of your friends," said Josiah, nodding at the group running through the open gate towards them.

Merle saw her at the head of the group and as she counted heads and realized that there was one missing, she started running. He could see the panic on her face, the dread as she came nearer and all his plans to conceal Milton from her went out the window as she spotted his body and screamed. Merle caught her around the waist, but her momentum carried them forward in a semi-circle as he brought her down to the ground where she sobbed and cradled herself, staring at Milton's lifeless form.

Rick, Hans, Michonne, Maggie, and Beth gathered around them, uneasily at first upon seeing Walter and Josiah, but relaxing when Daryl stood up for the men. Daryl took Maggie and Beth aside to explain how their father had died and they too burst into tears, rushing inside to see his body. Hans didn't follow Maggie at first out of respect for the family affair, but Rick nudged him with his elbow and Hans went in.

"Hershel died while we were at Terminus," said Daryl quietly. "He turned. Milton got back first and went in t'check on 'im. Merle'n me were about two hours behind 'im and we found Milton holdin' Hershel in a pool've blood. Hershel had bit 'im, but I dunno if Milton tried t'stop 'im or if he let it happen. He wouldn't let us take his arm, so we waited, then Gareth and the last've the Termites showed up, tried t'kill us again. Walter'n Josiah helped us take 'em out."

"You said Milton was bitten on the arm," said Michonne. "Why is he bleeding through his chest?"

"Gareth put a bullet right through 'im," said Daryl, shrugging.

"Even though he was already bitten?" Rick questioned.

"Gareth got off a shot," said Merle, finally speaking. "The fucker meant for that bullet t'hit me. Milton moved in front've me, took it right through the back. Otherwise he mightta still been alive."

"He reanimated, didn't he?"

Rick was examining Milton's head where Merle had had to stab him.

"Just for a few seconds," said Merle, now uncomfortably aware of Andrea straining at his arm to crawl to Milton, but he wasn't so sure that it was the best thing for her to see him like that. He'd seen her at her physical worst, but emotionally, she always kept going strong, and allowing Milton's death to finally hit her wasn't something Merle wanted to witness.

"Andrea—"

"Let go of me," said Andrea quietly.

"I don't think—"

"Let go," she repeated.

Merle released her and took the opportunity to clear his face of anything that might prompt the others to ask him if he needed a tissue. It was a day of shameless tears, but none would come for Merle. He wasn't incapable of conjuring them; they just refused to put in an appearance now that he felt he needed them to. He needed to let out this anger, this confusion, this numbing pain from watching these men die.

"Why would he do that?" asked Rick so that no one but Merle could hear him. "And of all people, for you?"

Merle could only focus on Andrea parting Milton's damp bangs with her fingers, so he had no answer and he never would.

***NOTE* I know this outcome may be quite shocking/disappointing/jarring for some of you, as it was for me to write it since Milton is such a sweetheart and I killed off Andrea in my last piece so that it seems that Milton and Andrea will never be together. While contemplating which main character should meet their untimely end, I wrote an alternative ending in three or four chapters in addition to this ending. I'll wait to see what you have to say before considering posting the alternative ending, but know that if I put it up, it will appear as AE Chapter: " ", and that to read the story seamlessly with one ending or the other, go from Chapter 37: Savagery to either Chapter 38: A Good, Decent Person, or AE Chapter 40: Nature's Order, depending on your preference. I hope that made sense. Please don't cry, and stay tuned for the non-alternated ending chapter or two to see how the characters grieve (or don't).**

**Oh, and in case anyone is interested, I just finished a drawing of Dallas Roberts as Milton and another of Michael Rooker, so if you'd like to see them, visit AllyRae29 on Deviantart and go to my Portrait/Faces gallery.**


	39. Chapter 39: A Friend at World's End

**ANDREA**

Since she couldn't bear to see the hole above his eyebrow where Merle had stabbed him, Andrea placed a bandage neatly over it. She straightened Milton's filthy, bloody shirt collar and smoothed out the wrinkles on his shirt. With nothing else to fix up before wrapping him in his shroud, Andrea began sewing up the white sheet that would cover him in his grave. She started with his boots so that she could keep his face in view for as long as possible. When she reached his neck, her fingers refused to thread the next hole.

He could have been sleeping. Even for the few seconds he had reanimated, he still retained his complexion all except for the eyes which Andrea kept closed so that she would never have to see the tainted pigments that took over the plain blueness she remembered. She wanted to kiss him goodbye—

_No goodbyes, I swear._

But it was too risky. Even dead, the infection still lingered, and any exposure to her mouth ran the risk of infecting her as well. She placed a thin bandage over his lips and kissed it before taking it away. Now there was no way she would ever be able to sew up the shroud.

Beth took the needle from her and made quick work of sealing up the rest of the shroud so that Andrea's last glimpse of Milton Mamet was his immaculately combed hair.

"I'll help you carry him outside," Beth offered.

"No, I can do it," said Andrea.

As with Amy, as with Dale, Andrea had to undertake this last act for her loved one on her own. The last hands that touched their bodies had been hers, and so it would be with Milton. He deserved that. But when she went to lift him, she knew she'd underestimated his weight, for she couldn't lift him on her own. In fear of dropping him, Andrea could only prop up Milton's head in her arms and try to think of a way to transport him to his grave.

Merle took Milton's legs in his arms and waited for Andrea to be ready. On the silent count of three, they hoisted Milton's body up and bore it outside to where two other graves had already been dug in addition to his. On the way, Andrea saw faint tendrils of smoke curling upward into the sky from where the cannibals' bodies had been burnt over by the road. Hershel's body lay in the middle and Parker's remains lay on the far right. Merle climbed down into the hole first and Andrea followed, then they lowered Milton's body into the rich, damp earth.

Merle looked down at Milton and scrambled back up out of the grave as if afraid that it would come back a second time, but Andrea was altogether reluctant to move. She couldn't let him go now.

"I know why you did it," she told his empty body. "But did you know what sort of impact that would have on the rest of us? Why didn't you at least try to make it? Why did you leave me to do this?"

A hand hooked under her arm to pull her out of the hole. Merle let her rest Milton's head on the ground so that her fingers could brush over him one last time. She grasped Merle's hand with both of hers and he lifted her out like a toddler swinging off of a parent's arms. Merle steadied her, holding on her with his eyes until she looked back.

"You're okay," he told her.

The two of them set to work shoveling the dug-up dirt back from whence it came, covering the white sheeted body lying at the foundation. Beth and Hans were already halfway done with Parker's grave while Rick, Daryl, and Maggie were a little further along than Andrea and Merle. Walter and Josiah were allowed to stay when Rick recognized that their efforts to protect the Groverfield group were genuine and that they had returned to Terminus to try and help, but didn't have a chance to until Gareth cornered Milton, Merle, and Daryl in the burgundy house. They stood by now, unsure of whether or not to participate in the digging because they had only known Parker. Carl solved their dilemma by making them construct Parker's crucifix.

When they had all finished their work, patted the last shovelful of dirt into place, and set up the grave markers, Rick said words for each of the three men, showing equal dedication all around no matter how close or distant he was to them. Andrea didn't listen; Rick's words couldn't even begin to reach her. She looked down the line at the survivors of the group and all of them were clinging to every syllable that came out of Rick's mouth—except for Merle whose empty expression revealed that he couldn't be consoled either.

Even if he hated Milton, Merle knew him second best to Andrea, and had been with him in those final moments. Everything Milton had been on his deathbed was what Merle witnessed and though Merle would probably rather blow out his own brains than admit it to her, Andrea knew from Daryl that Merle had shown more nurturing behavior towards Milton in those last few moments than he had to anyone in his entire life. Merle had lost something in Milton as well, and though it wasn't a comforting notion, Andrea was glad to know that she would not be alone in the days to come.

She found Merle's hand and clasped it.

/ / /

**MERLE **

He heard her enter, and he knew it was her because she didn't pause on the threshold to knock or to ask if it was alright to intrude. She came right in, knowing that Merle wanted her there, and she sat down on the edge of the bed next to him, reaching into his lap to take his hand.

"Used t'do this with him, didn't you?" he said quietly.

"Because he needed me to," Andrea answered.

"Very needy man."

"But he never asked for what he needed. I had to guess."

Merle felt her frigid fingertips burrow deeper into his palm for warmth and he remembered how he had tried to squeeze Milton's hand hard enough for the latter to feel it and know that Merle had granted his last wish. All of a sudden, it seemed important that Andrea know this, so Merle told her how Milton had called out to her in his last moments and searched for human contact to guide him out of this life and into the next. When he had finished telling her, Merle saw Andrea bring her other hand up to her eyes. Of all the things that she could have cried about today, _this_ was when she chose to let loose.

"You can tell the whole world that you hated him, but Milton was your friend, Merle, and he looked out for you as best he could, just like you did for him. He grew on you."

"He grew on my nerves—"

"Merle…"

"I tried t'save 'im." Originally, Merle had intended to take this secret to his grave, whenever that may be, but he had to justify his actions now and have someone tell him that he had done all he could. Merle had guessed that Milton was beyond reproach when he saw the chewed away flesh on his arm, but he still wanted to try, just in case there was the slightest chance that the infection hadn't spread. And if Milton had let him chop it off, would he still have taken the bullet for Merle? If not, would they even have been caught by Gareth in the first place? Would they all have survived the day, or would the outcome have been even worse?

"He was already bitten," Andrea reasoned in an attempt to console him, but Merle knew better. He had come to Milton's rescue too many times when Milton was ready to let the dead have him to think that the infection wasn't still contained. There was still a chance to save him when Merle and Daryl found him, but Merle had let Milton talk him out of it because Milton wanted to go. Milton wouldn't let Merle save him this time, the one time Merle genuinely and truly wanted to. Eventually, Milton knew Merle would figure it out and Merle couldn't live with that guilt.

"There was still a chance," said Merle, gripping Andrea's hand harder than he meant to in frustration and confusion and above all, fury. "That selfish son've a bitch knew there was still a chance t'save 'im, and he wouldn't let me try 'cause he was ready t'give up. I could've taken his arm right off, but I didn't. Tell me what I did wrong! He was defenseless and I couldda done it, but all he had t'say was no and I didn't! The fuck's the matter with me?"

"Stopping yourself from doing something that someone asks you not to do isn't a bad thing, Merle. By all accounts, you were acting completely normal—"

" Y'can't do that after fightin' for so long, y'can't just throw in the towel when everybody's put their asses on the line t'save you. He put _me_ through all've that shit just t'turn 'round and flip me off in the end. Then he has the gall t'take that bullet and look me in the eye as he did it. Fuck 'im. Fuck that stupid, useless, shit-filled—"

Andrea took Merle's face in her hands and lowered it with a powerful gentleness until his forehead touched hers. He wanted to push Andrea away, wanted to continue cursing Milton's existence to hell, but because he couldn't find the way to express this confusing swirl of emotion within him, he let her hold him.

"If he didn't let you save him, then he was ready," said Andrea softly. "It wasn't your choice; it was his, and you have nothing to be ashamed about. He didn't place any guilt on you because he made this decision a long time ago. You told me that when he was lying in his bed and asked you to kill him if the time came, you agreed you would. The time just came a little later than expected."

"He made life hell," said Merle, trying to swallow the quaver in his voice. "If he'd just shut his mouth, things could've been so much easier."

Andrea sat back ever so slightly. "Look at me, Merle. Don't you dare let his death weigh on you, not when he put his life in your hands and gave you permission to dispose of it if he couldn't. He went on for as long as he could and when it came down to it, he wanted you to be the one to stay with us. Milton was incredibly smart and even with his disability, he learned to control his emotions better than any of us because he could put logic before everything else. He predicted that out of the two of you, you would be the better candidate to help the group survive. He valued your life above his own."

"That's bullshit. Y'don't' get t'choose who's the better candidate t'survive without the other person's consent."

"You gave him that consent when you chose not to kill him in Terminus. You had the gun in your hand and the option to save your brother, but you chose us over your own needs, and that told Milton that you were finally committed to us. He saw that you'd killed people on orders before, but when it came to your own free will, you did the right thing, and that's something he knew he couldn't do."

Andrea spoke as if Milton had poured out all of his innermost thoughts and secrets to her, as if she _was_ Milton, only Milton would never console Merle. But Andrea did know Milton best because Merle had chosen not to, so he couldn't judge her words.

"He was a good man," said Andrea. "A good man and a good friend."

Merle nodded.

"And even if it took his death for you to realize that, he would have been glad to know that you finally did."

They slept back to back that night, Andrea turned away from the window and Merle facing it. In the deepest darkness that came in the hours before dawn, Merle awoke and lay there for what seemed like years, going over the scenario in his head and wondering what he could have done differently, then backtracking to the very moment he first met Milton.

_ It was quite dark when Merle awoke in the medical ward, a strange and hostile place to him. He saw that a bandage had been wrapped around the stump of his hand and just above the forearm, an IV needle fed him medication. He reached for the glass of water beside his bed, but couldn't reach it, and when he tried to sit up, nausea hit him like a pan to the face._

_ A thin, underfed-looking man with rounded glasses and the face of a scolded puppy moved from the chair where he had been sitting in the corner and took the glass, handing it steadily to Merle and asking if Merle needed help drinking it. Merle heard, but didn't quite understand the question as he gulped down the water, spilling at least a quarter of it over the tank top someone had put him in to replace his old clothes._

_ "If there's anything you need, I can go get Doctor Stevens, but I'm covering for her right now since she's been working on you for about eight hours," said the man. When Merle had nothing to say in reply, the man extended his right hand to shake Merle's, realized his mistake, and quickly switched to his left in embarrassment. But Merle didn't take it, wondering if there was something bigger at work here and starting to scope out the room for possible exits._

_ "I'm Milton Mamet. I'm advisor and experimenter here at Woodbury. If you're worrying about the biters getting in, don't, because we have heavily guarded walls protecting the entire town. When you're able to walk, I can show you around and introduce you to Phillip, the leader of the town, though you can call him the Governor. He was the one who found you bleeding out and dying of heat stroke, but with Doctor Stevens's help, it looks like you'll pull through. I have to tell you that it's incredible that you cut off your hand to stop the infection from spreading…if that's the reason for it, I'm not entirely sure because I don't know the details, but if you have any questions, I can answer them for you."_

_ "I got one: d'you ever shut the hell up?"_

_ Anyone else would have been visibly offended by Merle's statement, but Milton Mamet only blinked and went to the tray on the other side of the bedside table. He tipped two white tablets into his hand and then placed them on a napkin, which he set in Merle's lap before refilling Merle's glass._

_ "Those pills should help you sleep. I'll still be here when you wake up to keep an eye on you. But I would suggest that you don't speak to the Governor in the way you just spoke to me. I have no reaction to that sort of behavior, but the Governor won't abide by it, so you'd best tread carefully. Respect among survivors is the key to the actual survival."_

_ "Yeah, well you can tell this Governor t'shove it up his ass too. I don't need y'all's help."_

_ "Obviously you don't because lying in a puddle of sewage with sunburns and an infected limb qualifies as top-rate survival," said Milton. "I suspect that you don't work well with other human beings."_

_ "That's some top-rate sleuthing, Sherlock," Merle retorted, and Milton actually seemed impressed at his rebuttal._

_ "I don't work well with humans either, but it's not from lack of trying. I was born with a disorder that makes human interaction and emotion difficult to comprehend, whereas I sense that you just don't give a shit and like tormenting everyone you talk to. If that's how you prefer it, be my guest, but you'll be thrown out, and call me crazy, but I would rather see you make an effort to survive here."_

_ "Awfully neighborly of you."_

_ "You're a human being, aren't you? We're an endangered species now, and every person we find is valuable. But if you want to try to make it on your own, that's your call. Before you do, though, I'd like to know your name to put on the record, just in case I'm not here if you decide to come back."_

_ "Merle."_

_ "And your surname? Or is that your surname?"_

_ "Dixon."_

_ "Alright then, Merle Dixon, if you've decided to not be an asshole and you're still here in the morning, I'll give you the tour of Woodbury."_

_Merle decided from that exact moment onward that he didn't like Milton because of that snarky, all-knowing, superior attitude, but he couldn't help but wonder what made the man so committed to the preservation of human life. Humans were valuable if you could find the right ones, but most of them had turned savage with the fall of the world around them. How could Milton pick out which ones were worth saving and which ones were better off dead? What made him see the difference in good people and bad people?_

Easing himself out of bed, Merle went to the window and pulled up the blinds to allow the full power of the half moon to shine in. The ground below was bathed in the moonlight, a bluish-white hue that made everything appear supernatural. The three crucifixes stood out against the east wall. Milton had asked that his resting place not be marked, but that was when he still feared that there was someone within the walls who would defecate on his grave.

Merle had carved Milton's name into the cross. It was a rough job in atrociously untidy handwriting, but he wouldn't allow anyone else to do it. That grave marker would catch his eye every time he walked out the front door, every time he happened to glance out of his window, for as long as he remained in Groverfield. And now all Merle could wonder was if he had put forth the effort to not just survive, but thrive within Woodbury, could he have had a different impact on Milton? If he had tried to connect with him instead of coexist with him, might Milton have let Merle save him? It was a question he would spend the rest of his life asking himself.

He took himself back to that moment when Milton lost his eyesight and his body began to shut down. He had begged for Merle to keep a hold on him until after he died, but he would never have known if Merle chose to set him down in the dirt instead of honoring that plea because for the last minute or so, he felt nothing. Over and over he had asked Merle to not let go of him. In the fog, Merle would have dropped him because Milton was allowing him to. On the platform, Merle would have dropped him because Milton chose to accept it. Only when he lay dying and knowing full well that he was going to die, had he asked Merle to not let go, so Merle didn't. Instead he listened to Milton garble out something about people's forgiveness, switching from "they" to "we" mid-sentence.

Had Milton been the decent one and accepted Merle as a friend?

_They forgive you…We all forgive you…_

Merle had his answer.

He brought his finger up to the foggy window pane and traced the shape of Milton's cross with his fingernail. The sound must have awakened Andrea, for she rolled over and squinted at him in concern.

"Merle, what's wrong?"

"Nothin'," said Merle. "It's all good." He glanced at the cross once more. _We're good, Miltie._ Leaving the blinds wide open, he climbed back onto the bed and let sleep come.

***See AE (alternate ending)**

**Due to some confusion, I had to edit my last bolded statement at the end of the last chapter because people thought the story ended there. Naw, I wouldn't do that to you. I had to give you some closure. So THIS is the end of this section and upon request, I will be posting the alternate ending chapters (two or three chapters). So just look for the AE Chapter: " ". As I said before, ending the story this way was just one of two drastic decisions I made, but I felt that it had to be one way or the other. Unless inspired to try something completely different with these characters (Merle/Milton/Andrea for the win), this will probably be my last WD fic since I've run dry of any ideas to use. I thank you all for the immense support and dedication. **


	40. AE Chapter 40: Nature's Order

**Alternate Ending-1, Continued from Chapter 37: Savagery**

**MERLE**

"Hustle it up, Miltie, daylight's wastin'," Merle called back over his shoulder to Milton who was starting to lose his battle adrenaline and fall back into his wheezy, lagging self. They had reached a bridge about ten feet from the river below and the distance between the two of them was at least a half dozen yards.

"I can only move so fast with all of this water slowing me down," Milton retorted, gesturing at his sodden clothes.

"Well, it's your own fault for goin' swimmin' in the middle've winter."

"It wasn't an active decision; they were shooting at me."

"I'm surprised y'didn't drown. The pool was only 'bout four feet deep, butchoo don't look like the sort've person whose parents put 'im in swimmin' lessons."

"I wouldn't call what I did swimming," said Milton, finally catching up.

Merle heard the sound of wheels crunching on gravel from the direction in which he and Milton had just come. Seizing Milton by the front of his shirt and praying that they wouldn't catch hypothermia from what was to follow, Merle stepped to the edge of the bridge.

"Well, here's hopin' you can swim, Miltie."

Milton didn't even have time to yell, much less resist as Merle jumped, dragging Milton with him. They hit the river hard, but with only ten feet, the fall didn't hurt. It was, however, deep enough to ensure that they both went underwater completely. The current wasn't strong, but it was frigid and Merle's head went numb from the coldness biting at his skin. When Milton kicked for the surface, Merle held onto his shin, motioning that they needed to try and stay down for as long as possible until the vehicles had passed over the bridge. A shadow passed directly overhead and Merle felt something strike his arm before continuing downstream. Concluding that it must have been a piece of driftwood, Merle deemed it safe to come up, and broke through the surface, gasping in the air that stung his face.

His eyes adjusted just in time to see a car parked atop the bridge and Daryl climbing out of the driver's seat.

"The hell're y'doin' swimmin' at a time like this?"he hollered down to Merle.

"I thoughtchoo was the cannibals, dumbass. Wasn't no time t'make a run for the trees, so we had t'jump."

"Who's we?"

"Me'n—" It was here that Merle realized that Milton had never come up. Swearing, Merle stuck his head back into the water, scanning the riverbed for signs of Milton, and found him floating near the bottom, his body motionless. Merle kicked at the current, fighting against the water to swim down and not let the natural buoyancy of his body take him up. He hooked his arm around Milton's neck and pushed against the rocky river bottom to shoot upward. When he surfaced this time, he swam straight for the shallows with Milton in tow. Once there, he propped Milton up and came around behind him to attempt the Heimlich Maneuver.

Merle crossed his arms at Milton's midsection and tugged. A small amount of water came out of his mouth, so Merle heaved again and this time, what seemed like half of the river came spewing out as Milton choked and gagged for air. Merle dropped him right there and started up the bank towards the car where Andrea was now hanging out of her window to get a glimpse of them.

"Is he okay?"

"He's fine. You're good, right, Miltie?"

From in the shallows, Milton held up his middle finger to Merle.

/ /

"They never passed us on the road," said Daryl. "They can't be here yet."

Merle saw no tire tracks, no new footprints, no nothing, yet he didn't feel at all safe walking into Groverfield. They were almost positive that no one had gotten back before them, but lack of caution had steered them wrong before, so they proceeded with wary eyes and alert ears, sweeping the area for any telltale signs that someone was in hiding. When they gathered in front of the burgundy house to evaluate their situation, they were just as alone as they had been since their arrival, though they wouldn't be for long.

"We need every weapon we can find t'fight these bastards 'cause we don't know how many're left," said Daryl. "Y'all said y'left a gun with Hershel?"

"He's in there," said Milton, nodding at the window beside them.

"Look through the curtain," Andrea prompted. "Can you see him?"

"He's in there," Daryl confirmed. "He ain't movin', just layin' on the bed."

"Does it look like he managed to opt out?" asked Milton.

"Hell, y'all, I ain't runnin' a commentary on carnage. We'll just haveta find out when we go in. C'mon."

Just outside the guest room door, Milton stopped Merle from entering by grasping the doorknob and pulling against it to keep the door closed.

"In the absence of Maggie and Beth, I think I should do this by myself."

"That's mighty sentimental, Miltie, but we ain't got time for you t'be makin' waterfalls outta your eyes. We gotta get this done quick-like."

"And I will," Milton promised. "But it has to be me. If he wakes up and makes a move before I've done it, you can hold him down, but I have to be the one to silence the brain."

"Why?"

"I wouldn't expect you understand, and even if I did, I know you'd just give me shit for it, so can you just humor me here?"

Andrea shot Merle a look behind Milton's back and he relented. "Alright, fine, but if he gets up, I'm takin' 'im out."

Milton took out the knife he had stolen from Beth's shoe and turned it over in his hand so that the blade was sticking down. He turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. Hershel's head followed the sound of the creaky door and Merle saw the deadened greenish-grey face. The low, guttural sound of the dead came from the body's throat and it sat up, reaching a clumsy hand towards Milton who had stepped in. The biter went to stand, but wasn't in control of its limbs and face-planted on the floor. Even as it lay there, though, Milton didn't go in for the kill. The biter's fingernails scraped against the floor as it dragged itself forward, and still Milton's didn't make a move. With the size of the room, the biter would reach Milton in the next four seconds unless he acted.

Merle shared a look with Daryl and his little brother nodded. They had to do it for Milton. Merle went to move past Milton when the biter grabbed Milton's shoe and the dumbass panicked, knocking Merle, Daryl, and Andrea over backward domino style. From behind Milton, Merle saw the biter go in for the bite at an exposed spot on Milton's ankle and Milton bent forward at the waist, forcing the knife through the biter's ear with its teeth poised to chomp down. Before he brought the knife out, Milton moved his leg, and then with gentle calmness, lowered the biter's head to the floor.

"Asshole," muttered Merle, going to the bed where Hershel's pistol still lay and swiping it up. He stormed back out of the room, walked straight out the door, and got the butt of a rifle full in the face. Blindsided, he hit the porch hard on his knees where people began to kick at him mercilessly while he attempted to cover his face. In a last ditch effort to protect himself, he grabbed one of his assailant's feet and twisted, both feeling and hearing the bone snap. Lucky for him, his victim happened to be Gareth.

"Get him on his fucking feet," Gareth ordered. "The bastard broke my ankle."

Tyrone merely had to lift Merle by the back of his shirt to pick him up and once Merle's head had stopped spinning, he saw five cannibals: Gareth, Tyrone, Kara, Billy, and another. And yet, Milton, Andrea, and Daryl hadn't yet come out of the house. Was Merle missing something, or did the cannibals honestly not think to look inside for the others?

"You are the single most difficult slab of meat I've ever had the displeasure to kill, Merle," said Gareth, nursing his ankle from where the other cannibal was supporting him. "I thought we'd agreed to respect each other? If you'd followed through with that, I might have let you choose which limb we cut off first, but after this nonsense with my ankle, I think we'll just make it an eye for an eye. Broken bones first, then severed ones. Meat tastes the same, even on broken bones."

"Yeah, and that's real fuckin' neato, but go fuck yourself, asswipe."

Tyrone lifted his bat into standard batter position and Merle's leg was the ball…

An arrow brought down the cannibal beside Gareth and then Daryl, Milton, and Andrea poured out of the house in a frenzy of blazing glory. Daryl went straight for Tyrone and Andrea full on charged Kara down. Billy had slightly better reflexes and clubbed Milton over the head as the latter came out of the house. Milton toppled right off the top step and hit the grass hard.

This was what he was resigned to. Merle only existed to get Milton Mamet's sorry ass out of trouble. About that one thing, Milton had been absolutely right from the beginning; without Merle, the group could never have gotten this far. He was the unseen backbone, the dominant force that connected the brain to the rest of the body. Milton was the voice of reason and logic, the brain that the body relied on. And the brain was the one part of the body that was needed for the rest of the body to function.

"Get up," he shouted.

/ / /

**MILTON**

"Get up! Stand the fuck up!"

Merle stood over him, firing in defense so that Milton could regain his senses and find his way to his feet. Using the shotgun for support, Milton stood up, his head swimming as he saw multiple Merles all shouting at him while dozens of cannibals flooded the lawn. He turned to see three Billys rushing at him with an axe. Milton tried to focus on the middle one, knowing that he didn't need much aim with this weapon.

"Now!" Merle yelled.

Milton blasted the Billys backwards with the shotgun, but saw only one Billy land in the grass. He heard another gun report go off next to him. Fearing that maybe he had been shot and not realized it due to his slow reaction time, Milton checked himself for wounds—but it was not he who had taken the bullet. Merle leaned against the railing, hand to his chest where a large red hole was oozing blood through his white muscle shirt. He didn't stay there for long, turning around and stomping forward again, but the second bullet went directly through his upper right shoulder and this time when Milton heard the gunshot, he knew he'd received the bullet.

Having been standing behind Merle in a direct line up with his silhouette, Milton took the bullet slightly higher up the shoulder since he was shorter than Merle. The impact brought him back a few feet where he collided with the door behind him.

Daryl screamed, throwing himself at the nearest Termite. Milton, however, was in shock. He didn't know why he couldn't react to this when he had launched a rebuttal towards Phillip after Hershel had taken the blow. Maybe because Merle was still fighting, but Milton had the awful feeling that it was because Hershel meant more to Milton than Merle—and the thought made him sick to his stomach.

Merle returned fire at Gareth, but his aim was unsteady and he only managed to graze him across the face. It was all the time Milton needed to pump another shell into the chamber and let loose on the trigger, sending Gareth flying at least six feet backwards, his torso a mess of internal organs and flesh. Milton reached out to support Merle, but Merle wouldn't accept his help.

"It ain't over," he panted. "Finish it."

Andrea and Kara were both scrabbling for the same knife, clawing at each others' faces to gain the upper hand. Kara punched Andrea in the chest and dove for the knife. Using the full weight of her body, Andrea drove her elbow home by slamming it into Kara's exposed back. Kara squealed and Andrea scrambled over her, snatching up the knife and thrusting it forward into Kara's eye.

"Bitch," Andrea gasped, collapsing in the grass with a hand to her chest.

Daryl was locked in combat with the last cannibal, Tyrone. He was strong, but Tyrone was a giant among men, and Daryl couldn't hold out. Milton didn't trust his aim, so he launched himself into the fray, locking his arms around Tyrone's throat while the enormous man tried to throw him off like a bucking bronco. Milton's weight was enough to make Tyrone take an ungainly step back, giving Daryl the window to drive his knife home into Tyrone's stomach. As the big man fell, Milton let him go, and Daryl delivered one last stab to the neck.

They didn't stop to tower victoriously over their kill, but rushed back to where Merle was on his knees, holding himself up by clutching one of the porch spindles. Milton observed the location of each bullet, pulling up a memory from when he and Hershel had been reviewing ways to take care of bullet wounds. Though complicated and a task that required the steadiest of hands, Milton knew he could do it even without Hershel's help.

"I can treat these," he told Merle.

"I ain't shittin' rainbows yet, son, back the fuck off."

"He ain't helpin' you, he's helpin' me, so shut up," said Daryl, draping Merle's right arm over his shoulders while Milton took the left.

"Andrea, go get the bag from Hershel's room; I'll need it," Milton called back to her as he and Daryl carried Merle to the Grimes and Greene house to Hershel's workshop. Once inside, they set Merle down horizontally on the operating bed and Milton used a pair of surgical scissors to expose the wounds.

He pulled the tray of supplies on the rolling table towards him and picked out the tools he needed, instructing Daryl to bring him various other objects that would be required to extract the bullets and seal up the wounds. While Daryl's back was turned, Milton plastered a bandage over his own bullet wound; that could wait. When Andrea returned, Milton had her set up an IV which he then stuck into Merle's forearm.

"Okay," said Milton when he had all of his equipment, "here we go. Merle, this is going to hurt because I have to dig out each bullet, which requires some poking around in the wound. If they're in one piece, I can pull them out easily, but if they've broken off, we might be here a while."

"Go nuts, Miltie," said Merle, focusing on the textured ceiling.

Milton chose a set of surgical pliers and positioned the lamp above him. The light caught on an exposed piece of metal in the wound in Merle's chest. He clamped down on the edge of it with the pliers and pulled. Merle's body surged upward so that both Daryl and Andre had to hold him down until Milton had extracted the slug. To Milton's delight, it was a whole piece and not fragmented.

"Halfway done," he told Merle.

The wound in Merle's shoulder was harder to work with since the bullet had gone through a bit of bone and muscle and broken into at least three pieces. Milton had to dig around in the wound to ensure that he didn't leave anything behind and then began to treat the wounds. Though pleased with his steady work, Milton was beginning to worry about Merle's lack of reaction after the first bullet came out. He hardly moved at all while Milton had been prodding at the exposed flesh to locate the splintered bullet and even now as Milton stitched the lesser wound shut, Merle said and did nothing.

Daryl, who had also noticed his brother's strange behavior, propped his head up with a pillow and leaned over him to examine his eyes while Milton checked Merle's pulse.

"It's all good now; you're gonna be fine."

When Merle said nothing, Daryl tapped his face. "Hey, I said you'll be fine."

"I know," said Merle with a dry crack in his voice, not looking at Daryl.

"What's wrong, bro? Y'need water?"

"Naw, man, I'm good."

Even as he said it, Milton felt the thumping against his fingertips die out. Merle's pulse was gone. Daryl leapt up, shaking Merle by the front of his shirt.

"No, you bastard, don'tchoo die on me!"

"Fuck," muttered Milton under his breath. "Daryl, move."

Milton pinched Merle's nose and breathed into him, pumping four times on Merle's chest with one hand on top of the other. He tried again and saw Andrea out of the corner of his eye reaching over Merle's body to stop him.

"Andrea, you wouldn't let me help Hershel, don't you dare stop me now."

Daryl dropped to his knees beside the bed, watching Merle intently for any signs of life as Milton continued to perform CPR, but after the sixth rep, Milton knew it was over. With only the briefest of pauses between reps, he took in the sight of Daryl clinging to his brother's body, and kept going, if only for Daryl's sake. His repetitive pressing on Merle's sternum caused the bullet wounds to open up again, trickling blood across the planes of his chest. The unresponsive pupils staring unblinkingly up at him were telling him to give in, to stop giving Daryl false hope, but as the seconds dragged by, Milton found himself pressing on to prove to Merle that he had it in him to save someone instead of needing to be saved. Merle needed to know this; he couldn't die yet.

Milton breathed into Merle again and as his hands formed the proper shape to pump on the chest, Andrea intervened. She gripped his wrist without words and Milton let his gaze rise to meet hers. It was reminiscent of their first personal interaction when Mr. Coleman had died in Woodbury and Milton was attempting to strap his lifeless body down. Then, Milton had known that Mr. Coleman was dead and felt a detached sadness as well as shock at seeing a dead body, which registered in his movements as his hands shook while he attempted to tighten the straps. Andrea had taken his wrist then, her touch foreign, unwanted, but reassuring, her gaze sympathetic. This time, though, Milton was in complete control of his motions and struggling to bring Merle back, and she was stopping him because she could see that outwardly, he wanted to while inwardly, he was crying out for someone to tell him that there was no point in going on. And he didn't feel detached emotion this time, only pure grief.

"You can't," Andrea whispered. "He's gone."

"He's not done here yet," Milton insisted, trying to shake Andrea's hand off.

"Yes, he is. He hasn't had a heartbeat for three minutes and we don't have any way to get it beating again. He's cold, Milton; he's gone."

"Giving up on people has always been too easy for me, Andrea, but not this time. I can't give up on him—"

"Milton, he's dead!"

Milton swiped the tray off of the table where all the contents crashed onto the floor and then he grabbed his hair, pulling until he felt tears forming in his eyes from the pain. "_Fuck!_" he screamed.

The meltdown was what finally registered the truth with Daryl. He sat back, scooting himself away from his brother's body to block the reality out.

Milton rested one hand on Merle's face, covering the empty eyes so that he wouldn't see the blank nothingness in them and hunching over with his fingernails drawing blood from his clenched fist. He threw himself into the chair beside the bed and put his head in his hands, feeling blood collecting on his forehead where he had brutally yanked out some of his own hair.

There had to be a mistake in nature's order; Milton had removed the bullets, tended to the wounds, kept Merle's breathing passages open, even given him an IV from Hershel's stock—and still Merle didn't make it. Milton didn't have Hershel's experience, but he had spent months learning from him, passing each test Hershel put him through with flying colors. Merle should have lived…unless he had given up the will to. That didn't make sense either; Merle valued his life only second to Daryl's and would have kept going no matter what sort of strain it put on his body. The only logical explanation was that Milton had fucked up, but when logic was taken out of the equation, he was left with guesswork and emotional estimations. Something had been going on in Merle's brain to upset the balance, something that prevented him from-

Merle's hand grabbed him. Milton stood up, bringing the reanimated corpse with him, and he put his arms out to push against the walker. Sick, infected yellow, red, and green pigments stared back at him from under a furrowed brow. The biter was still as strong as Merle and rammed Milton into the wall, snapping its bloody teeth at him. Milton could have used any number of nearby objects to beat the biter over the head with, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, not so soon after going to the physical limit to save him. By some twisted turn of fate, Milton considered that maybe he deserved this: to die by Merle's reanimated corpse when Merle had died by his, Milton's, hands.

Daryl came soaring over the bed and drove his knife upwards into the back of his brother's skull. There was no life left to leave Merle's eyes this time, but Milton could still see the movement cease in those tainted pupils. Daryl withdrew the knife and the weight of the empty body with its grip still on his arms pulled Milton straight down to the floor. Andrea and Daryl pried the dead hands off of him and as they did so, Milton felt his most recent bullet wound stretch painfully.

Sensing his pain, Andrea tore open his shirt at the shoulder to throw the wound into greater relief. The quick bandage that Milton had taped over it to hide the hole until Merle was taken care of had come off.

"What's wrong? Didee getcha?" questioned Daryl, poking at the wound.

"When did this happen?" asked Andrea accusingly. "Milton, why didn't you say something?"

"I wasn't the priority."

Milton hated being the priority. It seemed that it had been like that from the second he decided to leave Woodbury; everyone always had to ask and wonder about Milton Mamet, see that he was safe, that he had enough oxygen, that he was well-protected between the others in a fight, that his mental health was addressed. He was sick of being this weakling that was getting everyone killed and if he thought that hiding his injury was the best way to prevent that, who was anyone to stop him?

"We can fix this," said Andrea. "Daryl, pick up those tools. We're going to get the bullets out."

"No, leave them," Milton heard himself say loudly.

"Hey!" Daryl dug his finger into Milton's chest. "My brother fuckin' gave his life for you, so you're gonna do whatever the fuck we tell you to and keep your goddamn mouth shut while we do it!"


	41. AE Chapter 41: Coming Back

**ANDREA**

In truth, she had no idea what she was doing and she doubted Daryl did either as they made Milton lay down on the table Merle's corpse had just vacated. With Hershel's tools laid out in front of her, Andrea was starting to feel a sense of foreboding, when she heard the floorboard creak behind her. She ducked down and Daryl prepared to take a shot with his crossbow.

"It's just me!" shouted an adolescent voice.

Andrea spun around to see Carl holding his squirming sister and relief flooded his face at the sight of some of his friends returned.

"I heard the commotion earlier, but I didn't want to come out until I knew for sure that it was you. Judith's been fussing for hours; she's hungry."

"I got it," said Daryl, rushing out to fix Judith a bottle of formula while Andrea took both children in her arms and hugged them, grateful that they had been spared the violence of the day, if only visually. They didn't need those memories haunting them.

"Merle…"said Carl presently.

Before Andrea could explain, she heard Rick calling for his son out in the yard.

"We're in here!" Andrea responded, and ten seconds later, Rick, Hans, Maggie, Michonne, Beth, and for some reason, Walter and Josiah crammed into the room. Stealing Carl's gun from the holster on his leg, Andrea pointed it at the two Termites, but Hans blocked her way.

"No, wait, they're with us—"

"Bullshit they are. They led the Termites right to us—"

"They came to warn us," said Rick, lowering Andrea's hold on the gun. "They were never with Gareth. I thought the same's you when I saw 'em in Terminus, but after Michonne came for us, Walter'n Josiah took us straight to Maggie. It's thanks to them that we got there in time and after, they led us to the armory, which is the only reason we were able to get s'far as we did. They covered us on our way out and then found Michonne'n Beth. They're clean, Andrea, and they're with us."

"Where the hell were they when that prick was torturin' my brother?" Daryl demanded, having returned with Judith's bottle which he stuffed into Carl's hands before stepping closer to Walter and Josiah. Rick and Hans had to push him back, and though Rick couldn't understand why Daryl was still having doubts when the two men had been vouched for, Andrea could. Rick hadn't seen Merle's body yet; he didn't know what had happened, and if Daryl could blame someone still living for his brother's death, he was going to do it.

"We couldn't have done anything when we were outnumbered," explained Josiah. "If we had tried to help you then, Gareth would have had you all executed and shot us down in the process. We had to wait for the opportunity—"

"And did that opportunity tell y'all that the women were gonna be stripped naked'n raped? Did it tell ya that Gareth was gonna feed Parker t'the walkers'n make everybody watch? Did it tell ya that three've us were gonna get shot'n one've them three was gonna die 'cause've your pal Gareth?"

Dawning appeared on Rick's face. He might have guessed who it was given that there was one member of their group not standing around to argue over something that he would never have been able to resist arguing about. But he still asked Daryl.

"Daryl, what happened?"

Unable to repeat the events that transpired before the rest of the group arrived, Daryl went back to the operating bed and attempted to pry out one of Milton's bullets with his knife.

"Stop," said Hans quickly, taking the knife from Daryl and picking out the correct tool. "Let me do that; Hershel showed me how."

"Where's my dad?" asked Maggie, prompted by Hans's mention of her father.

"He's in the room where we left him," said Andrea, letting go of Carl and returning his gun so that Rick could embrace his son and daughter. Maggie took off for the burgundy house and Beth made to follow, but Hans called her attention to Milton instead.

"Beth, I know your father taught you some forms of medical treatment as well. I'll need your help."

It was a diversion tactic to prevent Beth from seeing her father's walker body as long as possible so that Maggie could prepare it for burial, but Beth took the bait in a move quite strong and mature for a young woman who had lost the two most important men in her life and nearly her virginity all in the same day. With Hershel's practiced hands and his focused eyes, Beth came around to the other side of the bed to sterilize the instruments Milton had used on Merle. As she went, she had to step over Merle, and that pulled her up short.

He had not been covered in the haste to see to Milton's wounds, so his infected eyes were visible to them all. Rick finally realized what had made Daryl so upset and went around to console him, but Daryl was having none of it, firing up at Walter and Josiah again.

"Y'see that there on the floor? See my brother? He couldda lived if you'dda acted faster. He'd still be alive if you'dda killed that fuckin' bastard that shot 'im, but y'didn't. My brother's dead; that's on you. Don't expect no warm welcome for me."

"Daryl—"

"Outta m'way," said Daryl, shoving past Rick who shared a look with Michonne and both of them followed Daryl out.

Carl popped himself down in the armchair by the window, tipping Judith's bottle so she could get to the formula inside of it. Muttering about holes that needed to be dug, Walter and Josiah excused themselves, leaving Hans and Beth to perform their work.

"Andrea, you need to sit down and take pressure off of that leg," said Hans, gesturing at Andrea's shin where the bullet had gone completely through when she hopped the Terminus fence. "I'll treat that when I'm done here."

Andrea took a sheet from Hershel's medical cabinet and draped it over Merle's body, tucking it in around the sides so that his upper body was completely covered. She sat down hard on the floor beside him, watching Hans and Beth go to work on Milton. Despite being quite new to the field of medical attention, Hans was able to remove Milton's bullets and stitch him up in less than twenty minutes, then bandage Andrea's wound, after which he let Beth go to find her father.

When she had gone, Hans's shoulders gave a shudder and he clapped a hand to his mouth to swallow the gasp of grief that longed to come out.

"Hans, what is it?" asked Andrea in concern, starting to stand up.

"Nothing, it's fine," said Hans, wiping his sleeve furiously over his eyes. His shoulders gave another involuntary shudder and he grasped the edge of the operating bed to steady himself. Milton sat up and rested a precautionary hand on Hans's arm.

"Let it out," Milton advised. "It has to happen sooner or later."

The anguish that everyone else had experienced tenfold throughout the day had finally caught up to Hans who had been trying to keep the emotion bottled up for the sake of Hershel's daughters, both of whom looked to Hans as they did to Rick for steady reassurance and protection. Hans was much like Milton in that sense where open display of emotion came last, but where Milton had had trouble conveying it, Hans reserved it for when he truly needed an outlet and his breaking point had been reached hours before now. He only prevented himself from feeling it.

Hans thrust his hands under the water faucet in the sink Rick had helped Hershel install and washed the blood from his skin. When he turned back around, his face had regained its composure apart from his bloodshot eyes. He went to Carl and held out his hands for Judith.

"May I hold her?"

The only person more protective of Judith than Carl was Rick and after spending hours locked in the panic room with only himself to protect her, wondering if he now had to fend for both of them, Carl should have been reluctant to let anyone near her, but as it stood, Carl was a remarkable young man who understood the healing that people found in holding Judith, so he let Hans take her. Hans cradled her to his chest as she drained the rest of her bottle and rocked her silently for a while before he spoke his mind.

"I just need a reminder that we managed to salvage something from today. I need to see how beautiful she is…" Hans grasped Carl's shoulder. "Both of you. You're the reason we kept fighting."

"We'll keep fighting," Carl promised. "We won't ever stop, not while we have this place and these people. It's like Maggie said that day at the gate; even if we lose people, we still make room."

Just in time to hear his son's words of wisdom, Rick ruffled Carl's hair, followed by Maggie and Beth who both looked as if they had had a good long cry-out.

"Walter and Josiah're nearly finished with one've the graves, but we'll need two more," said Maggie shakily.

Hans let Carl take Judith back and hugged Maggie to him so that Andrea could see Maggie's eyes welling up again.

"We're goin' back for Parker," said Rick. "We don't leave our people behind. Daryl, Walter, Michonne'n are goin' with me; better t'be safe in numbers, just in case a Termite or two survived. I'm leavin' you in charge here, Hans."

"Maggie can handle it," said Hans. "I'm going with you."

"I've got things here," Maggie assured Rick. "We'll be done with the holes by the time you get back."

Andrea watched from the window as Rick and the others took the car that Daryl had hotwired and then the gate was pulled shut after they had gone. Maggie, Beth, Carl, and Josiah set about to digging the other two holes. Neither Andrea nor Milton were in a position to be shoveling out in the dying light, so they had to sit and try to occupy themselves in Hershel's work station with only Merle's body to keep them company. Andrea couldn't stand to let Merle continue laying on the floor with people stepping over him, so she started to drag him toward the bed by his pant leg. Milton used his good arm to help her and after much readjusting and straining effort, they managed to get the body onto the bed.

Sinking down onto the floor in unison with their backs to the bedframe, Andrea and Milton shared a drink from the canteen Beth had filled for them. Andrea was the first to speak as the room darkened around them and neither of them got up to turn on the lamp.

"You need to stop," she told Milton sternly.

"Stop—what? I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Stop giving up every chance you get. Merle died, not you, and don't you dare try."

"I'm not."

"Then what the fuck was that when Merle's corpse attacked you? It came at you and you didn't even fight back. You didn't go for a weapon or try to run; you just stood there and let it grab you."

Milton shook his head. "You wouldn't understand."

"_I_ wouldn't understand?"

"I can't explain it; it was an understanding Merle and I had and when I saw him as a biter…I froze. I wasn't trying to get bitten—"

"That's bullshit and you know it. You've been ready to give up for a long time, Milton, but Merle wouldn't let you. Ever since that argument we had, you've been rash, distant, and unreachable. I've seen your face whenever there's danger and you always look like you want it to be over. At the gate when Merle was leaving, when Hershel was stabbed, in the trailer, when Gareth told Merle to shoot you, when you saw Phillip. Every time, I've looked at you and I don't know who you are."

"That's melodramatic. I haven't changed—"

"Yes, you have!" Andrea insisted, now thoroughly angry with him. "You changed from Woodbury to Groverfield, and then, when I spoke out against you, you changed again, but not in a way that's helped you. You're just empty now and you don't care. That horse shit you fed me that night in my room about doing everything you could to stay with me—that's all gone. You don't give a damn about your own life anymore, which tells me that the body lying on the bed behind us died for nothing."

"I only acted that way because I didn't think it was worth it to try and stay alive if you didn't want me," said Milton, clearly frazzled in trying to put his emotion into words. "I was trying for you, but when I thought that you didn't want anything to do with me, I figured that there was no point. And when we made peace, Hershel was shot just an hour later and everything came crashing down. You've suffered through loss before, Andrea, I haven't—not in a way that I was able to comprehend. I shut down."

"You can't stay like that. Do you remember when you asked me who Dale was and how he died?" Now was as good a time as ever to finally tell this man she cared about most about the man who had taught her the value of such friendships.

"I remember."

"I shut down after my sister's death and it nearly got both Dale and me killed because he wouldn't leave me behind. At the time, I thought it was selfish of him, but I've grown to realize that it was me who was being selfish by abandoning the people who still needed me. I never got the chance to truly apologize to Dale because a walker ripped him open at the stomach and I just sat there holding his hand until Daryl put a bullet in his head. I loved him, and if I hadn't snapped out of it, I wouldn't be here and neither would you. You have to pull yourself together. It hurts when people die, Milton, especially if it's people you love, it fucking hurts so much, and it always will, but for the ones who are still here, you have to keep trying. I'm sitting here next to you, alive, breathing-" Andrea took Milton's hand and placed it over her heart, "Do you feel that? I'm here with you and I want you here. You need to come back."

Then, because she didn't know what else she could tell him and because she didn't want to hear his response, Andrea stood on her wobbly leg and walked out of the room to go help with the digging in any way she could.

**One more alternative ending chapter to go…**


	42. AE Chapter 42: Seeing Clearly

**ANDREA**

Wherever she went, she seemed to leave a trail of death and graves behind her: Amy at the quarry, Jim on the road, Jacqui at the CDC, Dale and Shane on the farm, Lori and T-Dog at the prison, Carol in the woods, Glenn at the cabin, and now Merle, Parker, and Hershel in Groverfield. Only this time, she wouldn't be leaving Groverfield to pursue a new home; she would stay here as long as the group did.

The true unity of this family was present in their methods of grieving after the bodies had been placed, the graves had been covered, and the grave markers erected. It was the longest day in Andrea's memory, beginning with Rick and the others returning with Parker's remains and progressing with the graves being filled after final goodbyes had been said for each man. Daryl set Merle's body into the middle grave and filled it himself. Hans helped Maggie and Beth fill in Hershel's hole, and then Beth went to work with Rick's assistance in filling in Parker's. No one spoke at all or looked at each other, but not because of a sense of broken fellowship. They were waiting for the final ceremony.

Rick asked if anyone had anything they would care to share, taking his place as the leader once again now that his two strongest supporters were dead. Somewhere along the line, Merle had booted Daryl out of an authoritative position and competed against Rick as the alpha, just like Milton had said. Daryl was still Rick's first lieutenant, but Merle had held a higher position than Rick at some point while Hershel took the backseat of a mentor. Parker had climbed the ranks in his brief period with them, making it to the rung that held Hans and Michonne. And with the addition of Walter and Josiah, their manpower was almost as even as it had been before, though the men were starting out low as they built up Rick's trust. Where Andrea and Milton stood on this ladder, she didn't know, but as the person who at least knew Merle better than the majority of the people present, she felt obligated to say something for him.

Milton, however, beat her to the catch with a speech that beat out anything Andrea could have said.

"I didn't know these men best, nor did I know them long, but the three of them left a bigger impact on me than any other man in all of my life. They had their faults and they knew what they were, but they shared one quality that canceled out all of those: humanity. They understood and weighed human life. Hershel was completely selfless, a fact proven by his last act being an attempt to lend aid to an old enemy. Parker put trust in a group of strangers when he had no reason to after what had been done to him by his own people and he was willing to die for those strangers he didn't know the very day he met us. And Merle…there's no delicate way of saying this, but his pig-headedness helped us get to where we are now. He'd done things he wasn't proud of, things that made him hate himself, things that he had learned to live with, and he wouldn't let anyone tell him differently if we tried to show him that he still had some goodness left in him. And even though we clashed nearly every day, I could see that his decision to stay with us when he owed us nothing gave him hope. Right up to the end, everything he did, it was for us. Everything all three of these men did was for this group, even if they didn't realize it at the time. I think they've earned our best efforts to keep going."

Beth and Maggie had broken into choked sobs at only a few words into Milton's declaration and the others followed at various points except for Daryl who took a knee beside his brother's resting place and sat there with his head bowed for the longest time. He didn't take lunch and didn't come in for dinner, but Michonne took a plate out to him and then sat with him as Rick and Hans split his watch duty shift.

Nine o'clock rolled around and as Andrea saw Walter's bundled silhouette standing guard outside, she heard Daryl finally come in, trudge up the stairs, and lock himself in his room. Andrea had made it halfway into her pajamas with her sweatpants on and her day shirt on its way into the dirty clothes hamper when she saw something sticking out from under her pillow. She pulled out a plastic Ziploc bag with white powder in it and a clumsy handwritten note on a crumpled sheet of paper.

"_You n__ever did throw this out of the window on the ride back from the pharmacy. Found it in the lint trap in the dryer, held onto it—dunno why—but since I'm on my way out, I won't be needing it if I'm gonna be on my own. Still wondering why we never hooked up, Blondie."_

Cocaine. Andrea had completely forgotten to throw the bag of cocaine away on the drive back from the pharmacy to pick up medication for Milton and Parker. Her worries had driven the promise from her mind and she must have subconsciously tucked it into her jeans pocket. When she dried the jeans, the bag must have been sucked into the lint trap and when that got backed up, Merle had taken it upon himself to investigate the source of the problem. What he found was his potential relapse and he had stored the coke away, perhaps keeping it in case he absolutely needed an outlet, until the day he had decided to leave the group in search of Daryl. Only, he didn't leave, and Andrea had missed the note he left her because the following day, the Termites had come and she had spent the majority of the night out on duty.

This childish handwriting from an inexperienced left hand was proof that Merle Dixon had existed and it was the only bit of evidence the world had left. Andrea doubted that Merle had ever let anyone take a picture of him and wherever he had once lived before the outbreak, any confirmation of his life was long gone. She now held all that was left of him. Sinking down onto her bed, she grabbed her pillow and pressed her face into it to stifle the cry of distress that broke out of her throat.

She didn't know what to feel for Merle anymore other than regret that she hadn't tried harder, said something more relevant, _not_ said what she had told him at the gate. Arrogant, hot-tempered, inappropriate, irritating man that he was, Merle was actually as selfless as Hershel in his actions, even if his words spoke otherwise. He never ran in the face of danger; he always took charge of the people around him first and was the last to be standing in their many fights for survival. He had even given Phillip the same chance that Hershel had. And he died fighting alongside Milton rather than leaving Milton to the Termites.

Why did it take his death to finally see it? Andrea didn't deserve that unwavering loyalty he had shown her in all the ways in which he had sought to protect her when the apocalypse stopped being a game. On the rooftop in Atlanta, Merle was just another asshole who took the end of the world for granted, but even with the same voice and the same sly smirk when Andrea had seen him again in the bushes by the helicopter crash, she could see that he was different. If there was one good thing Woodbury had done for Merle, it was to teach him how to be a part of something bigger than himself. Even though they eventually turned on him, Merle felt obligated to protect the people in Woodbury and that loyalty passed straight over to the prison group when Merle was thrown out of his previous home.

Life after the outbreak had not been fair to Merle or Parker, and yet neither of them let that change them into anything worse. They had died good men.

Knowing that she wouldn't be able to sleep alone, Andrea sought out Milton's company. Milton, the only person she knew felt almost exactly the same about Merle as she did, the only person whose company she had secretly craved ever since their argument. Milton was still her best friend.

Hoping that he was still awake, Andrea stole through the bathroom and quietly opened the door to Milton's room. Milton was not having any luck in trying to pull off his shirt on his own, biting the collar to hold it in place as he undid the top two buttons. Even that seemed to take a ridiculous amount of effort and Andrea would have laughed if she hadn't been sobbing minutes before. Drying her eyes, she finally took pity on Milton and his attempts to wriggle out of his shirt.

"Hey," she greeted, stepping into his room.

"Hey," he responded, twisting in useless circles to get a better grip on the sleeve covering his bad arm. "Just getting ready to bed down."

"You're leaking." Andrea motioned at the blood seeping through Milton's shirt and he gave a sigh of resignation.

"Damn. This was my last one. All the others have the same stain."

"I can dress that," said Andrea. "Take your shirt off and I'll put a fresh bandage on it before you change into your nightshirt."

"No, I'll just go get Hans myself—"

"Milton, you saw me half naked. Take your shirt off."

"That was different," said Milton. "What that bastard did to you—"

"He didn't, but I don't think there's anything left to be embarrassed about where the two of us are concerned."

Andrea unbuttoned his shirt and helped him slide off the right sleeve. He turned his back to her to get the left and she saw a long, thick scar stretching across one shoulder blade down to his left hip. "What's this?" she asked, tracing the cut with her finger. Milton shivered and edged away from her slightly.

"If you could not do that—I'm actually ticklish back there, I think."

"Sorry, but how'd you get that scar?"

Patting the side of the bed for Milton to sit down, Andrea took the first aid kit from her bedside his drawer and took out medical gauze and tape. Milton sat upright with perfect posture, hands resting on his knees. His skin was mostly pasty-looking with blushed spots where blood would flow, but the bullet wounds and the cuts from the past few days stood out like beacons.

"I got the scar in Woodbury. Phillip claimed it was an accident. Right before you left, we were in the lab and in a state of rage, he threw a table with some two by fours and other pieces of equipment on it. One of the pieces of metal cut me when my back was turned."

"Then your back was still healing when you came after me," Andrea estimated. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It wasn't something you needed to know. Dr. Stevens taught me how to tend to things like that I asked Hershel for some supplies so I could treat it myself. It healed by the end of our first month here."

"And here I thought I had you completely figured out."

"I thought I had you figured out as well. And Merle, for that matter," said Milton thoughtfully. "It was just easier for me to see Merle as an uneducated pest than to accept that he had any amount of decency in him, but he defended you when Phillip thought that you weren't worth saving, and that got me thinking what sort of history the two of you shared. I found that out in more detail than I ever needed to know, but I'm glad I did; it proved that Merle wasn't a lost cause."

"You have the oddest way of expressing your thoughts when it comes to things like this," said Andrea. "You can't just say that you're glad to have found a friend in someone like Merle. I'm glad. He saved my life more times than I can count."

"I don't know in what way, but I know you loved him," said Milton, and Andrea was taken aback. Even for Milton, that was a bold statement. "It's easy for you to do that. I always thought that I would be able to shut everyone out and if they died, it wouldn't have the slightest impact on me, so I couldn't understand what was happening to me when I saw Hershel being stabbed, and Parker being eaten, and Beth being beaten. I realized that I'd developed that ability to care about people and try to shield them from everything and it hit me hardest when Merle died and when I saw what Curtis had done to you."

"You said you'd always come back for me; I was just stalling until you got there," said Andrea playfully, tearing off strips of medical tape.

"You know why that is," said Milton. "It's taken me too long to recognize it, but it's the one thing I'm sure of where emotions are concerned. Hershel, Parker, Beth, Merle, you…I never experienced how much pain an emotion can bring you when it backfires until that day because I hadn't accepted that I had learned to feel it. It was easier for me when I didn't know how the human body worked beyond regular cognitive motions, but it was also pointless and empty. It takes so much more to let your mind process death, especially if it was someone you loved. Living this way isn't easier, but it's more fulfilling."

Andrea finished taping the gauze to Milton's wound and then placed her arms carefully around his neck, nestling her head on his uninjured shoulder. She said a silent note of thanks to Merle Dixon for his sacrifice in helping to keep Milton alive, not because he felt any obligation to be a martyr, but because he knew that Andrea needed Milton. Allowing himself to rest his head on top of hers for a moment, Milton patted her knee in a _there, there_ gesture that weaseled a small chuckle out of Andrea. At least he was trying.

She lifted her head and Milton craned his neck sideways to look at her. She kissed him, running her fingers through the hair on the back of his head and as she felt his hand cup her shoulder, she knew that though they had a long way to go, he was learning fast.

/ / /

**MILTON**

His body was still coming down from the high of such intimate physical interaction. The window was propped open just a smidgen to cool down the room, but even that was enough to make Milton cast another blanket over the bed. Tilting his head to the side, he watched Andrea inhale deeply in her sleep, her hair tangled about her face so that only one eye was visible. Only now that his heart rate was slowing down did he feel the pain return in the shoulder, but for the time he spent with Andrea, it had been racing to a different rhythm from anything he had ever experienced. She was well-versed in that area, and he had no experience of his own, but she was patient and she guided him through the parts he was unsure of.

Milton licked at his lips, chapped and cracked from the night's events, and felt the scar on his lower lip from where Merle had hit him in the horse trailer on the ride to Terminus. The thought was like a plague; always coming back to him when he least needed and wanted to be reminded of it.

"Are you still thinking about him?"

Andrea was awake, tucking her hair behind her to look at him in the semi-darkness.

"Aren't you?" asked Milton.

"Of course, and I know I will be for a long time, but not for the same reasons that you are."

"I'm highly perceptive, I always have been, and Merle was practically an open book where rage was concerned, but hate is another thing entirely and I can't interpret his last moments. I don't know if he was fueled by hate or misplaced rage or something else that I can't yet understand."

"He wouldn't let anyone interpret him; that's what made Merle the man he was."

"I don't think he hated me, but I don't think he had ever planned to die protecting me. I think it was only his basic understanding of humanity that made him stop and help me up, thereby allowing himself to be shot. He wore that outward mask of hate and disdain for everything, but I dissected those emotions he displayed in the yard at Terminus when he led Phillip out. He told me I couldn't understand why he was doing what he was doing, but I think I know now. Merle valued the debt system: repaying favors and making things even. I save you, you save me sort of thing. He honored that in granting Phillip's final wish, which was to die before his body could be consumed by any flesh eater. Merle had been taken in by Phillip, climbed up through the ranks of lieutenants, earned the right to be himself, and he returned the favor in shooting Phillip."

_Only because he didn't want me to._

"Andrea, I need to confess something."

Propping herself up on one elbow, Andrea tilted her head to show she was listening.

"After I left you on the hill leading out of Terminus and went to help Merle, I saw the walkers attack Phillip. He had been bitten twice, maybe more, and he asked Merle to kill him before the infection could spread. I shot him four times, all in non-vital areas because I wanted him to suffer. I-I felt satisfied knowing that I was causing him all of this pain after he had inflicted so much upon me. I believed that I deserved the right to kill him myself or torture him as long as I felt was necessary, and I would have kept going, I know I would, but Merle stopped me. He said that I was a decent person and that he couldn't allow my soul to be sullied in continuing to engage in that torturous act. If I had kept going, I don't think Merle would have been the one to die."

Andrea rested her hand atop Milton's bare chest, careful to avoid his bullet wounds. "Merle was used to being the villain. I think he learned to embrace that role, which made it so difficult for him to adjust to life with us being the one with a high temper, but he grew up learning to tell the difference between good and bad people and I believe he tried so hard to keep you alive because he thought you were one of the last good people the world had left to offer. The two of you fought, but it was only the two of you. Merle argued with everyone; you argued with Merle."

"I had to. We both had to; it was the only way we could survive without making war. We didn't want to, but that was how we had learned to accept the other's existence. And I hate myself for admitting this, but I needed him more than I ever cared to admit before. I never had to ask him to come to my aid; he just did. That goodness in him that made him help me time and again was something I didn't want to recognize, but now that he's gone, I know what it is."

"He'd tell you that you're wrong," said Andrea. "He'd deny that he had any goodness in him because he couldn't take a compliment directed at his soul, even if it was true."

"Words can't deny what is there to see. I saw it in him and some part of me believes that he did as well."

Andrea snuggled in close to him and Milton put his arm around her, thinking…

With the morning came long-awaited sunshine, but a pounding wind to accompany it so that the warmth of the sun still didn't quite reach down to Earth. Andrea helped Milton put a fresh shirt on and then went downstairs to start up some breakfast while Milton began to tuck Parker's now vacant camp bed underneath his own. After a few minutes of adjusting, pushing, and pulling, Milton took a break, sitting back on his knees and glancing out into the hallway.

Directly across from him, Merle's room stood empty, his door closed and locked from the inside at the behest of Daryl. Privately, Milton felt that it was because Daryl was honoring his brother's position as alpha male of the group and thereby felt that no one else would ever be deserving of the master bedroom. If they took in others in the days to come, well, there were plenty of other houses to choose from.

In fact, Walter and Josiah had taken up residence in the burgundy house, beginning by washing out the stains on the hardwood floor and repairing the damage the Termites had inflicted upon it. In helping Rick and the others return, they had earned their place, though they would always be associated with the day the group lost three of their own.

Almost as soon as he exited the house, Milton was put on babysitting duty by Maggie who was helping to oversee further crop planting with Rick. Milton sat down on the steps, tucking Judith's blanket tighter around her. He let his mind wander to the dark places it had been the day before as Judith sat contentedly on his lap, watching the others go about their business. At this age when she hadn't even mastered cognitive abilities, Judith was easily entertained, though Milton had a sudden flash-forward to toddler-Judith always wanting to play with someone. Milton pushed that image far back into his brain; he didn't need any more thoughts like that today.

Judith suddenly cracked a toothless smile at the sight of Daryl and when Milton realized why, his saliva got caught in his throat. As a baby, Judith still had trouble differentiating between all the people who held her. Maggie and Beth, Hans and Parker, Andrea and Michonne, Carl, Hershel, Rick…but Milton and Merle always acted completely different with her from anyone else. They had never put up with the baby blabber; they spoke to her like she was an adult with Milton carrying on conversations filled with detail and estimations and Merle dropping swearwords like raindrops in his gruff voice. Judith recognized these differences, young as she was, and since Merle and Daryl were so alike in their mannerisms, when either of the Dixons had held her, she responded to them in the same way.

Now, with Daryl calling out to her as he approached, Judith thought that he was Merle and she was excited to see him. This infant in Milton's arms had loved Merle unconditionally, never knowing or understanding all of the extra baggage that came with him. As she grew older, she would hear stories of Merle, but never be able to match his face to a memory.

Daryl took Judith without addressing Milton and started off toward the Grimes and Greene house

"Daryl, wait" Milton called before Daryl could get too far. "I know this is an age-old apology and it won't mean much coming from me, but losing your brother…I'm sorry it happened the way it did. I tried to save him, I honestly did, but—"

"I know," Daryl acknowledged. "I was sittin' right there watchin' you go at it, and y'kept goin' even when I knew it was hopeless. Y'kept tryin' even though y'knew he was gone. I respect that, I'm grateful for it. I know Merle would be too, even if he'd never say it. Y'done alright, man, we're cool."

An epiphany occurred to Milton and he suddenly felt the need to be out in open space, unencumbered by walls that unintentionally shut him and his thoughts in when they needed to be free to come and go as they pleased. He had lived his entire life behind walls of all nature: physical walls in his room at home, his cubicle at work, Woodbury, Groverfield; mental walls that separated logic from emotion; and emotional walls that blocked out everyone and everything that had the potential to hurt him. At this moment, he needed to be free of all three types of walls.

Andrea was on guard duty, sitting in a collapsible chair atop the platform, and she looked down in surprise to see Milton clambering up the ladder at top speed.

"Considering what happened last night, you still have a lot of energy," she observed. "I would have thought that would have taken the drive out of you for a day or two."

"I need to go over the wall."

"Why?"

"It's just something I need to do. Call it a personal cleansing. I can't do that here. I need to be alone—out there," said Milton, hoping she wouldn't ask him to explain further because he didn't have the words.

"Milton, you were just shot yesterday. You can't defend yourself out there."

"Then I'll run."

"You're not good at that either."

"I have to try to be. I owe him that."

He had said the magic word. Andrea lent him her pistol since Milton had left his on his bedside table and threw out the rope ladder for him. As he positioned himself to climb down, Andrea kissed his cheek with a meaningful look that told him to be alert. It took a few tries to secure his hold with his bad arm, but in the end, he was able to descend without too much trouble and promised to return soon.

Milton hiked for about twenty minutes, encountering nothing and no one and keeping the mid-morning sun on his left shoulder. He reached a small clearing in the trees where he had a view of the sky above and dense forestation on all sides. This was as good of a place he was going to get without heading out another four miles to a field he had seen on one of his runs with Merle and Daryl.

He inhaled the fresh air, cold as it was, and embraced the overwhelming sensation of freedom from the enclosures of his life. He had made his peace with Daryl and even if he couldn't say the same with Merle, what was cool with the little brother was cool with the elder. He had journeyed miles in just one night, going far beyond his own expectations for himself. He had broken out of the life of barren, detached passiveness and stepped into the life he never realized he had wanted.

Milton zipped his coat up as far as it would go, burrowing his nose into the turned up collar and stuffing his hands into his pockets for warmth. Winter was far from over, and it was going to be a long, cold one at that. Spring and summer would come, but Milton was glad that Merle wouldn't have to experience the rest of the winter season. The seasons were often a test of endurance, of natural selection. The weak did not survive while the strong flourished in the warmer months to follow, but Merle had taken it upon himself to try and reverse that ideology so that the weak still had a shot, and Milton was determined to live up to those expectations.

"I may yet make it," said Milton to the biting wind with no answer, not that he had expected one.

He turned back, making deliberate footfalls to leave the smallest tracks possible amidst the forest floor of dead leaves, broken twigs, and mud. The wind lifted his hair, setting it on edge as if someone had deliberately ruffled the hairstyle that he had taken great care that morning to comb out. The weather could be a real asshole sometimes—like someone Milton had known quite well.

As a final experiment, Milton flattened his hair with one hand, continued on a few steps, and then felt the wind blow it to the side again. He performed a fake-out by going up to flatten his hair and then taking his hand away at the last moment so that the gust he felt building suddenly died out. Twice more he did this and then finally pressed his hair down to his scalp, only to have the wind pick up again and make a mess out of it.

Milton glanced up at the overcast sky. "Cut it out," he said sternly.

The wind pushed him forward almost as if he had been shoved between the shoulders from behind. Milton shook his head and continued on, allowing himself the smallest of recollective grins as he left the solitude of the woods behind.

/

**So, this is the part where I officially say my thank yous and farewells because as I mentioned before, I don't think that I have it in me to do another WD story since I've exhausted this dynamic between Merle and Milton with not one, but two stories. Maybe a long way down the road I'll find a reason to write another, but I find that the further the show progresses, the less people want to return to "simpler times" and the people/places from Season 3. Maybe I'll head on over to The Grey and write a story about Dallas Roberts's character from that film. For me, though, Merle and Milton will always be my dynamic duo and my favorite characters.**

**I wrote this alternate ending at the same times as the original ending, but I did some tweaking to make it into how I felt was a good ending for Milton and Andrea while making it vastly different from Merle and Andrea in the original. I'll leave it up to you as the readers to decide which one you prefer. Special thanks to the three amazing reviewers, bunyipbabe, Thebigfatflyingbeastinthetree, and Lionel1776; your feedback helped me finally get this story finished. For all the rest of you who have read in silence, thank you. Sorry it's taken 2 years to place the last period for this story.**

**As a closing note, again, I invite you to check out AllyRae29 on Deviantart to see my portrait of Milton (Merle's a work in progress). Also, because I love Dallas Roberts and the idea of Milton just wandering around in the woods in the wake of Merle's death (and because it goes along with Dallas's role in The Grey), I suggest heading over to YouTube and listening to the first twenty seconds or so of the song "Reach for the Light" by Steve Winwood from the Balto soundtrack, but only the first twenty or so seconds…the Native American feel to it, the sense of night descending on the trees with someone walking off into the distance lost in thought is what inspired the last paragraph or two of this alternate ending. It's really worth it to have a listen while reading the last bit of this story.**

**Many thanks, my friends.**


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